Beautiful
by fifthofnovember
Summary: House/Cameron - Starts at "All In", vaguely episode related. Character analysis cleverly concealed as smut. Graphic sex and other mature themes included in the series, readers 18 and up only please. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own House (or any other character), because if I did, I obviously wouldn't be sitting on the computer. So please don't sue. I just like playing with them, and will put them back exactly as I found them. This story is entirely a work of fiction created solely by my own perverted mind.

Author's Note: House/Cameron, no other characters. Loosely episode based, starts at "All In". I know I jump around between seasons and my chronology is off, just deal with it.  Character analysis well-concealed in graphic sex. 18+ only please.

Feedback and comments welcome and appreciated!

**Beautiful**

House looked at his reflection in his office window, and a stranger stared back at him. He looked good in the tux – no, good wasn't the right word – he looked handsome in the tux, but he also didn't look like himself, at least not to his own eyes. Besides his clothing, he'd done his hair and trimmed his usual 3 day stubble into 1 day stubble that looked neat and intentional rather than the product of lax grooming. He liked the way he looked, but it also made him uncomfortable. It reminded him of the man he had once been and would likely never be again.

Cameron had seen him staring pensively out that window a hundred times if she'd seen it once, spinning his cane, tossing one of the balls he tossed while he thought, or simply trying to hide his eyes, but there was something different about his expression this time. He looked peaceful, almost content. She couldn't put her finger on what his eyes were saying, and even though she'd seen him happy (or as close to happy as House ever got), he had never looked calm before. His eyes were focused on the window, but yet far off at the same time. He hadn't heard her come in.

She appraised House, analyzing, taking in this new side of him. He looked dapper and refined in his tuxedo, and with his hair combed and beard trimmed, his cane completed his look rather than disrupted it. It looked like it belonged in his hand, not like it had to be there against both of their wills. He leaned on it slightly, taking the pressure off of his injured leg, elevating his right shoulder just a touch higher than the left. This was the way he always stood, but tonight it looked like he was engaged in an easy conversation with no one, rather than trying to avoid pain.

At some point during Cameron's analysis of his look, House had become aware she was standing there, although he gave no sign of his awareness. Without shifting, moving, or turning around, his reflection spoke to Cameron's reflection in the window. "Are you just going to stand there all day staring at me, or are you going to say something?" The question was classic House, although it lacked the usual exasperated edge. There was something different in his voice, a little confidence had taken the place of the arrogance that he usually used to cover up his lack of confidence. He sounded, saints help and preserve us, a little _gentler_. His voice could have simply reflected exhaustion, although, if he were going to have a tender moment with anyone, it would almost certainly have been with Cameron. There had been a few already, though House would have never admitted it.

His tone, or maybe his lack of the usual tone, snapped her out of her musings. "Uh…yeah, sorry. I just wanted to tell you that Chase and Foreman left and…" House cut her off. "I know that. I sent them home, remember? And you, too, if I'm not mistaken. Being up for 2 days tends to disrupt one's concentration, and when that happens, mistakes get made. Which means you didn't come in here to talk about Chase and Foreman, did you?" The acid was back in his words again, but in a weaker form. "Of course I did, House, why else would I have come in here?" It seemed like an obvious question to her. She knew better than to barge into his office unless there was a damn good reason. Hell, everybody knew better than to barge into his office unless there was a damn good reason. Anyone who did that would either get their head bitten off, or would be mercilessly ignored. Sometimes either or both of those would happen even if you _had_ a damned good reason.

House made an addendum to his question. "You came in here to talk about Chase and Foreman _at first_. But, I just looked so stunning in sunrise that all other thoughts were erased from your mind as you stood and fantasized about me for a good three minutes, and would have done it for longer if I hadn't said something."

"Absolutely not. Get over yourself." Cameron replied with indignation. She felt her face flush. "Are you honestly so in love with yourself that you think you can put on a different suit and I'll lose all capacity for rational thought?"

"What, you don't think I look good? It's my hair isn't it; I just knew I should have used some of Wilson's pomade…or whatever that goop is he uses. It gets so frizzy in this weather." The tenderness was gone and the sarcasm was back as he shook his head in mock vanity, and it had only taken him three sentences.

"Goddamn it House, would you _stop it_?"

"I'm not the one deflecting this time, Cameron. Don't you think I look good?"

Cameron sighed a deep, heavy, and all too familiar sigh. "Of course you look good. You should shower more often. Anyway, I'm going - "

"I saw the way you were looking at me. What were you thinking?"

Now Cameron was genuinely surprised. House truly was different; under any other circumstances he'd have told her to stop thinking and stop analyzing. Now he wanted to know what she thought of him. And he also wasn't going to be happy, or willing to entertain anything else until they had this conversation. She sighed again. "I was thinking that your cane completed you. Made you look more refined." No sense in lying to him, and feeding his ego might get him off of this train of thought faster. It worked most other times.

A smile danced across the corners of House's lips and he turned around. "Hm…so you're telling me I'm more interesting to you tonight because I look _less_ damaged? That's very out of character for you."

Cameron didn't know how to respond; she just cast her eyes down slightly. Sometimes he made her absolutely crazy.

"So, you didn't want to go out with me after the ketamine, when I wasn't in constant pain, but you want me now when I look like I'm not damaged anymore. Is it because you know that I'm just playing dress-up, and I'll still be the same old damaged House that you can try to save tomorrow, but it's OK for the time being because you don't have to admit that to yourself? You can pretend the proof to the contrary is just part of the outfit?"

"I never said I wanted you".

"You never said you didn't." He took a step closer to her.

"I thought I already had."

"People lie. They also change their minds. "Another step closer.

"House…" His name passed her lips sharply, as a protest, but she didn't know what else she intended to say after it.

"Say it then. Tell me you don't want me. Wouldn't be the first time." Another step closer.

"I don't want you." But she didn't move. She was captivated, although she wasn't sure what kept her rooted to the spot. Maybe it was the intensity of the moment, maybe she wanted to see how far he was going to push, or maybe she felt out of place and uncertain how to react herself, standing there in an evening gown in a debate with her boss about whether or not she desired him sexually.

"Your words say no, but your lips don't." At that moment Cameron expected House to grab her roughly, or turn around and pretend the entire conversation had never happened, because he'd had the last word. He'd "won". She figured the latter was more likely, winning was almost more important to him than anything, although he could do the former too if he wanted to try to shock her. But he did neither. He took another half step towards her, slipped a hand tentatively onto her hip, and the other under her chin. She still didn't move. She didn't breathe.

She searched his eyes for the long moment that neither of them moved, looking for some sign of lust, anger, smugness, tenderness, something. But she found nothing. He simply looked at her, waiting. This wasn't the House she knew. She cast her eyes over his shoulder, suddenly feeling exposed under such close scrutiny and that's when he moved. He propped his cane against his desk and leaned forward ever so slightly, and his lips met hers. Again, there was no roughness, no insistence, no hesitation, it was simply the moment that he kissed her. He dropped the hand under her chin to join its mate on her other hip and their lips parted. He looked at her with a question in his eyes, one she answered by tangling her right hand in his thick, curly hair and pulling him toward her.

He smiled almost imperceptibly and kissed her again, more confidently this time, and she relaxed against him a little more, still not making a decision, but no longer protesting either. He was just so _different_ tonight. She wanted to explore this unfamiliar side of him, and if this was the way to do it, this was how she was going to do it. A kiss was just a kiss, she'd kissed him before after all, and she knew she could stop at any time. House might be an ass, but he'd take "no" for an answer too. There were things even he wouldn't push too far. Besides, his hands felt good. She could feel his long, thin fingers wrap around her slim hips, could feel the heat and moisture of his palms [was he _nervous_?] through the thin fabric of her dress, and she liked the sensation more than she had expected. Why not enjoy it as long as she could, before he decided to use the opportunity to prove a point? She stood on her toes and tilted her head and he responded to her cue by wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her closer as she opened her mouth against his, welcoming his tongue. His kiss was gentle, but hot, oh so hot and intense, and Cameron could taste the scotch and cigars on his breath, could smell the scent of his soap and cologne, of his hair, _his_ scent. She leaned into him and felt him hold her tighter. She brought her other hand up to his arm to steady herself, her head swimming with desire, confusion, alarm, lust and protest. She wanted him to take her, completely, and she wanted to run. She desired him more than she thought possible and she was also scared. She wanted to stop but she couldn't take her hands off of him at the same time. But, he did that for her.

He broke their kiss and took half a step back. "Why?" It was all he had to ask. "I…you're different somehow. Beautiful." He seemed to recoil at the compliment. He thought of himself as arrogant, abrasive, even delighted in the fact that he was better at being a pest and a source of annoyance than anyone he knew. In private moments, on good days, he even allowed himself to entertain the word "genius". He accepted "disappointment" and "cripple" because to several people he'd been the former and the latter was obvious, but "beautiful" hurt somewhere deep inside. He didn't want anyone looking closely enough at him to call him beautiful, and he didn't want anyone thinking he was, least of all Cameron. Whether he'd want to hurt her and let her down or not was beside the point, he eventually would. She was so easily hurt anyway, so sensitive…

He turned away from her, walked over to the couch and sat down. He tried to limp as little as possible, not wanting to strip Cameron of her illusion that for one day, he was magically healed. That seemed to matter to her. Though it made him uncomfortable, he still wanted her to want him, although he wasn't sure why.

She sat down next to him, softly, as if she didn't want him to know she was there. She felt naked and cold without his hands on her, unsteady without his body pressed against hers. "Greg…." He turned toward her against his own will. She'd never called him by his first name before. And it was all she had to say. Just for now, for however long this lasted, she accepted him as he was. If she was going to, then he could let her; he could at least try. He tried to clear the sadness from his eyes as he leaned toward her again and smugly asked, as though the past few minutes had never happened, "Sorry…where were we?"

She was the aggressor this time. She kissed him deeply, felt him hesitate for a fraction of a second before his hands were moving over her body again, still gentle but with more purpose. She relished the taste of his tongue, how solid and strong he felt against her and not at all fragile, not fragile as she usually saw him, not in need of protection or help, not like this. And she loved it. He laced one hand in her hair and pulled her closer, the other on her lower back stole her center of gravity and she laid down, felt him stand to reposition himself without breaking contact [was he standing on his right leg?] and kneel back down between her thighs.

She reflexively reached up toward him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, wanting all of him, wanting to feel his weight on her, and bracing himself on one arm, he obliged. Behind her closed eyes, Cameron saw a flash of white light as he squared his hips into hers. This was insane. She was so aroused so quickly it surprised even her, and she arched up against him, her breathing becoming ragged as she surrendered to whatever he wanted to do to her, whatever he wanted to take. Her motion gave him more space to explore, and his lips started just below her ear, making a slow, hot trail down to her collarbone. His free hand slid up and down her ribs, frustrated by the cloth, his breath burned in her ear.

She whimpered and tilted her head back, asking for more without a word. He kissed her again, and she shifted and squirmed under him, wanting his hands and his mouth everywhere at once. It wasn't enough. He reached around her, sliding his arm under her shoulders, and it soothed the aching for a few seconds until his mouth and teeth found the soft, vulnerable skin of her throat and chest. He moved ridiculously slowly, so slow it was torture, and her hands stole under his coat, raking at his back, desperate for something, anything, _more_. He let her go for a moment, slipping the jacket off of his shoulders, and then his hands were caressing her shoulders, her ribs, everywhere but where she needed them. She burned, she ached, she couldn't get enough of him. She was never like this with any man before. Never. She was always the one in control, always the one calling the shots, and usually the one that stopped before things got too far, unless she wanted them to. But not with House, not now.

She took his hand and guided it to her breast. He smirked, pleased with himself that he could do this to her. Through the fabric of her dress, he caressed the soft, heavy, smooth mound of flesh, as his teeth grazed the spot where flesh met cloth. His fingers grabbed the material, not at all careful of damaging it, and yanked it down roughly to allow his mouth access to where his fingers had just been. His teeth scraped her nipple first, then he closed his lips and gently sucked, circled his tongue lazily around the stone-hard bud. He bit down, just a scrape at first, then harder and a little harder until he felt Cameron's body stiffen as he crossed the line between pleasure and pain. He dragged his tongue over it, letting his lower teeth and his rough chin scrape over it on the trip up, and the heavy aching that had taken up residence in Cameron's pelvis started to throb.

He knew that, instinctively, and ground his hips against her as the thumb of his other hand found the sensitive center of her breast and slid over it. Cameron moaned and dropped her head back, astounded that such a simple, delicate touch could make her react that way. House's thumb made a return trip, firmer this time. Her nipple hardened under his touch and he rubbed it, pinched just hard enough to hurt, and then kissed the pain away. He was gentle that time, but his mouth still felt like burning silk on her skin. She was in awe of just how sensitive she was to his touch.

He continued to dry fuck her as he kissed her again, slowly grinding his hips down into her, feeling her arch up to meet him, then pulling back just as slowly and then back down again at the top of the motion, without stopping. He was as hard as he could remember being at any point in the recent past, and he knew he was tantalizing her with a thousand delicious possibilities every time she felt him grind his cock into her. As tempting as it was for him to just push her dress up, unbuckle his belt and slam it into her all at once, he more enjoyed teasing her, denying her, and making her _crave_ him. He could tell by the uneven breaths she was drawing into her lungs, the way she'd started shaking ever so slightly, by the grip marks he was probably going to have on his upper arms that she loved it anyway, so he kept up the slow, sensuous rhythm that kept Cameron exactly where she wanted to be, exactly where he wanted her.

He realized suddenly that she was right, he _was_ different. He'd gotten himself so used to hookers and one night stands since Stacy that he couldn't remember the last time he hadn't just wanted to get his rocks off and leave it at that. Most of the hookers at least pretended to like it when he fucked them, a few probably did, after all it was a numbers game. He'd been with so many of them, through sheer repetition he probably wasn't that bad in bed, and he was just a little over average sized; not big enough to hurt, but big enough to satisfy. Most of the one night stands knew they were being used, but if they didn't have to spend a night alone, that was all they really wanted. If he was the man who was willing to touch them and prove to them they weren't the only human being on the planet for just one night, so be it. He still got what he wanted.

But with Cameron, he'd managed to lull himself into a steady, low hum of arousal. He felt he could keep up like this, teasing her, forever. It was almost hypnotic. He wanted more, his body wanted more, but he didn't want to break the spell he'd cast on them both by doing more. He knew if she decided to take charge, his control would be a thing of the past, but he also knew with relative certainty that wasn't going to happen. After all, he wasn't a pushover like Chase, and maybe that's why she was with him and hadn't gone home with Chase. Cameron wanted to be taken and possessed this time. She didn't want to be responsible for her own pleasure, she was happy to take as much or as little as she was given. For now, she was happy to be submissive, and as long as that was the case, House wanted to see, hear, and feel how much she really wanted him, had really wanted him all along. If she hadn't fantasized about him, about this, she wouldn't have let go this easily. She'd done this in her mind dozens of times before, he was sure of it. That's why it was so easy for her to do it now.

While one of his hands still caressed her breast, he rolled slightly to the side, took her hand in the other and wrapped it around his hard cock through his pants. She touched him tentatively at first and then started to stroke him, but he wouldn't allow it, not because he thought he would lose it if she touched him, but because he was going to call the shots and letting her do what she wanted to do would take the power out of his hands. He grabbed her wrist and slid his hand up hers, pressing her palm flat against him and holding it there. He bit gently at the side of her neck, making her gasp and shake against him and then he whispered in her ear "Want that?"

She let out an unsteady breath and moaned, tried to move her hand again, trying to get him to lose control, but he held her hand still as he pressed into her palm. She arched, trying to close the space he'd created between them, wanting the slow, steady rhythm of his hips to rock her back into her erotic haze. He wasn't having any of it, though, and still holding her hand tight, closed her fingers around him, making sure she felt how thick and hard he was. "Do you want this…Allison?" The sound of her name off of his lips had the same effect on her that it had on him earlier. She squeezed him a little tighter, his hand still wrapped around hers and moaned "Yes."

He had his answer (as though he really needed it). He knew now that he had her so far gone he'd gotten her to admit, out loud, that all she could think about was his cock, and he knew he could drive her crazy. He turned the hand he still held over in his, pulled back far enough to make her let go of his other arm, grabbed that wrist too, and pinned her arms down as he settled himself back down on top of her. As soon as he had, he started to move against her again. She bit her lower lip and moaned, and while the sound traveled through House's entire body, he was a little amazed at his control. But he knew his body well enough, he'd been with it over 40 years. He wanted to see what he could do to hers.

His teeth scraped her sensitive skin harder as he pressed into her, going in for the kill. He didn't need any more answers; he just wanted to drive her out of her mind. "Please", she whispered, just loud enough to be audible. God, he loved the sound of her begging. But she could do better. House wanted to hear her moan his name. Still, he rewarded her efforts with a nice long, hard down stroke that made her cry out. He gave her another. She wrapped her right leg around the back of his thigh. In her mind, he was already fucking her, but her body knew otherwise. There was no satisfaction, no friction, no relief. Another. She clenched her fists in his grasp. Another. She was sweating a little now and struggled to free her hands, straining to touch him, to pull him closer, to at least try, somehow, to take the edge off the aching and the need she felt. He held tight, and she realized she was totally helpless. It wouldn't take much now. One more long, slow thrust of his hips and he got what he wanted. "God…._Greg_…_**please**_**.**"

He groaned in satisfaction against her throat, released her wrists, and just barely touching her, traced a hand down her body between them. His fingers trailed up her thigh and she shifted again, raised her leg a little higher against his hip, and held her breath, anticipating his touch. His hand played against her thigh and time stopped for her. She'd waited this long, she could wait a little longer. He kissed her again, tasting her need and her desperation. He was truly amazed that a woman could want him this much, despite all his one liners and cockiness, he really didn't think he was exceptionally desirable. She whimpered in frustration as his tongue left her mouth. His lips hovered just a bit above hers, close enough to feel his breathing, and he smiled smugly, looked her in the eyes and dropped the bomb on her that broke the last of her pride and made her entirely his: "If it's this good through 4 layers of cloth, just imagine what it'll feel like when I'm inside you."

House could have sworn that she almost cried from arousal and lust. His fingers found their target then too, and when he stroked her through her panties and heard the primal, beautiful moan she made and felt for himself what he'd done to her, he almost did lose it. He bit into her collarbone to distract himself, then ran his tongue up the side of her neck. He felt the shiver go through her. "You're so wet I'd slide right in, all the way, all at once, wouldn't I?"

Cameron couldn't take it anymore. She felt like her heart was going to beat out of her chest, or she was going to split in two, or die, or _something_ was going to happen if something _didn't_ happen, and soon. She reached down to unbuckle his belt and got only that far before he stopped her. She looked at him with frustration and something near panic in her eyes. He rose to his knees again and unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders. Then he reached for the hem of her dress and pushed it up. She arched slightly up and back down so he could get the garment past her shoulders and then there was only 3 layers of cloth between them.

His hand slid inside her panties [he noticed that she didn't wear a thong, rather, a bikini…just like Cameron] and she nearly came at the first contact of his fingers. She felt the electricity shoot down her legs, up her spine, her breathing halted…and then his hand was gone. She heard metal clatter to the floor as he slipped his belt out of its loops, and he looked down at her with a smirk. "Don't you want to save that for the grand finale?" In one smooth motion he kicked off his shoes, and then his pants and his boxers were gone, and he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her panties and pulled. She arched her hips to give him better access, and he let his knuckles "accidentally" scrape against her hypersensitive clit as he threw them to the side, watching her fight to control her orgasm. Just as he couldn't believe a woman could want him this much, he couldn't believe he could have done this to Cameron. Cameron who he'd wanted for years. The same Cameron who was now so excited – so excited by _him_ – that she was ready to get off at the slightest touch.

And then there was no fabric between them.

House fumbled in his discarded pants for his wallet, and subsequently a condom, but when Cameron realized what he was doing, she voiced her protest. He looked at her quizzically.

"I don't want anything between us. I want to feel all of this. All of you."

"How romantic…and tempting." Her request just turned him on more. There were so many things happening tonight that he hadn't ever experienced, or hadn't experienced in far too long that it was almost too much for his mind to handle. Having a woman beg for the feel of him, raw, inside of her could now be added to the list. Still, he continued to open up the foil packet.

"We don't need…." She tried to protest again.

"Look on the bright side," he quipped as he rolled the condom quickly on, "I'll last longer." She still looked more than a little disappointed. He kissed her hotly as he settled back into the position he'd been in, squared against her between her thighs. "Don't worry", he murmured into her ear as he leaned forward, catching himself on his arm, "I'll still be the best you've ever had." And he pushed forward, blindly, letting his body tell him what to do. This time, though, there was no cloth and no resistance and he slipped slowly, deeply, inside of her.

She ground her teeth, her eyes rolled back. "Oooohhhh…..god…_Greg_." It was the third time tonight she'd said it, after never having said it before this, and it had never sounded so fantastic. He felt her inner muscles clamp down on him, squeeze him hard, and the pleasure was nearly intolerable, it was so intense it almost hurt. She was as tight as a vice and despite being as wet as she was, the friction was exquisite. He pulled back and thrust forward again, then his instincts took over and he took her harder and faster. Cameron took a deep breath and tried to fight the pleasure building in her, wanting this to last. She knew she was so unbelievably aroused that she could probably cum more than once, but she wanted to go as high as she could go before it happened. She didn't want to fight the pleasure, she wanted to feel it, knowing that she had never been this turned on before and when the release came, it would be like nothing else she'd ever felt before. With one hand on the small of House's back, she steadied his hips and whispered "slow down". Then he realized that she was trying to hold back too. He'd never been able to _do_ this to a woman before, not even Stacy, who he'd been with hundreds of times, whose body he knew almost as well as his own. He could please a woman when he put his mind to it and actually gave a shit, but he'd never gotten one so turned on _she_ had to beg _him_ to slow down so she wouldn't go over the edge too fast. That realization gave him his control back, at least for the time being, and he remembered how much she'd loved the way he moved before he'd gotten her out of her clothes, while they were dry humping like teenagers. He took a deep breath and got that same rhythm back, slowly down and in, hitting bottom, feeling Cameron's body shake and her muscles clench around him, then back out again, then starting down again without pausing at the top of the stroke. Every muscle in House's body was straining not to just slam the hell out of her, but he loved to make her moan and shudder too much, loved the sound of his name on her breath too much, loved the sting of her nails digging into his skin too much to allow himself to do that, but he was only human and he couldn't keep this up forever.

He reached down, grabbed her hips, and pushed into her slowly, just as he had been, but deeper. Her sharp hiss of breath at the end of that stroke told him she liked it. He tried it one more time, just to be sure and got the same result. He reached above her head for the throw pillow on the couch. Catching on to what he had in mind, she raised her hips a little bit and let him put the pillow underneath. He looked into her face as he thrust down again, slowly, deeper than ever. She was in extremes of both agony and ecstasy that he'd never seen before. She threw her arms around him and mumbled something that ended in "so fucking gooood". And that was the end of his control. He'd been hard and aching for over an hour, watching this beautiful woman who, for some reason, couldn't get enough of him, struggle not to cum under his touch, and he couldn't take it anymore. He didn't thrust any harder, or faster, just deeper, impossibly deep, knowing that if Cameron hadn't been so turned on his strokes would have hurt like hell, but in her excited state she couldn't feel the pain, just the pleasure of taking House, beautiful, perfectly flawed Gregory House into her body deeper than she ever thought possible, deeper than she'd ever felt anyone inside her before and when he rocked his hips forward at the end of one of those deliciously slow, deep, perfectly timed strokes he hit the exact right spot and her body shattered. She bit into his shoulder so hard she drew blood, though she didn't know it at the time, and the moan he heard sounded like her soul leaving her body. He managed to choke out "now" before his own release came and she clenched around him one last time, so tight he couldn't have moved again if he wanted to. All motion stopped, time stopped, he thought his heart stopped too as he saw and felt heat course through his body like he'd never felt it before. The only thing he could compare it to was the time he'd stuck the knife in the electrical outlet, except then he'd felt pain and electricity shoot through his body, this time every nerve ending registered nothing but pleasure and release. He couldn't be sure, though, that this wouldn't put him into a coma too.

She was right. He had been different. Everything had been different.

Neither one of them spoke, he just held onto her until she stopped shaking and her breathing evened out, and at some point after her, he had fallen asleep. He was awakened at a little after by fire and battery acid filling his leg and realized he hadn't popped a Vicodin all morning. He staggered over to his jacket, fixed that problem, and got dressed. He didn't know exactly what to do after that, though. He walked over to Cameron and covered her with his overcoat, since she didn't have his body to keep her warm anymore. Without waking up, she took the edge of the material and wrapped it around her. Part of him wanted to wake her up and tell her that he was going home and that she should probably sleep fast if she was staying there, because people would be starting to filter in to work in just a couple of hours, but part of him didn't want to take the chance that she might regret what had happened. For a split second, he considered staying until she woke up. In the end, though, he slipped out the door quietly and limped home. The pain in his leg was excruciating and would be until the Vicodin kicked in. The pain in his soul, though, was lessened just a little bit. That pain would come back too, but at least the walk home wasn't as agonizing as it normally was.

She wasn't there when he came back a few hours later, and he hadn't really thought she would be. Just because he was in the habit of staying up for days at a time didn't mean he expected the same from everyone else. In fact she didn't get in until after lunch. He didn't call her and made the appropriate excuses to Cuddy and the rest of the team, but at several times during the day he did stop and read the note he'd found in his overcoat, which had been folded neatly and placed on his chair: You'll still be beautiful tomorrow.

To be continued….


	2. The Flame

**2**

"What the hell have I done?" The question had the connotation of regret, disbelief, and self-satisfaction all rolled into one. Cameron half gloated and half admonished herself in the mirror when she got home. She never thought she'd actually do it, although she wasn't ever quite sure which one of them would prevent it, or rather, up until the wee hours of the morning, which one of them had been preventing it. She'd wanted House beyond reason for years, but she figured she'd lived with the unconsummated lust for that long, she could probably live with it for another 2 or 3 years if she had to. Besides, the voice in her head always reminded her about the age difference, boss, and asshole factors that were part and parcel of dealing with House. She had never been entirely sure why he hadn't done it sooner. She could guess at any number of reasons, like he wanted to be in control, he wanted to mess with her mind, and he didn't want to be "fixed" as he always speculated was her intentions all along. Those were just for starters, but honestly, she didn't actually know the reason why he'd never acted on any of this sooner.

It didn't really matter now anyway. They'd both acted on it and it had been done. She couldn't say she totally regretted it. She also couldn't say that she didn't. Chase had been…well…Chase. Playing with House was playing with fire, and she was pretty sure that even though she thought she had it extinguished, it was likely to flare up again. What had her old professor said about fire in that class on evolution? Oh yeah – that we humans both fear it and crave it. We have such an inborn fear of fire that we'll throw ourselves to certain death just to avoid burning, but yet we know without fire, we're dead. That's why we have bonfires and burn candles, we still want to be near it, to revere it, even though it can kill us. She knew that laying a finger on House put her in the exact same situation. "Light the torches, ladies and gentlemen, and we'll see if we roast marshmallows or if the whole place burns to the ground…Jesus Allison what have you gotten yourself into?"

Cameron stepped into the shower, almost convinced that she should and would quit him. They'd just gotten caught up in a moment, there'd been tension between them for half of forever, these kinds of things happen every day. But as soon as she stepped under the water and began to wash herself, she realized that she missed the feel of House's hands already, the way he was both rough and gentle at the same time, strong but willing to yield. She knew what she'd gotten herself into, when it came right down to it, and she knew that she was not the one in control, which bothered her the most. She'd told Chase to go to hell, basically, and all she'd gotten was the whole "It's Tuesday, I like you" routine. Annoying, yes, but in the end the choice was up to her. For as gentle and passionate as House had been that morning (and as much as she'd liked it), she knew that if he wanted to throw her over his desk and take her fast and rough, that would be exactly what he'd do and there wouldn't be anything she could say about it. Part of her loved that, part of her feared it. He was the embodiment of the flame.

She woke up around lunch time and figured that it was better to face the music sooner rather than later, avoiding House would give him more of an upper hand than he already had. She did wonder why he hadn't called, after all it would have been just like him to figure out when she'd be a half hour or so into her nap and call right then with some made-up emergency, and when she got to work she'd find out the only emergency would be that Foreman makes shitty coffee. But there was no phone call and no emergency. No "emergency" either. The peace and quiet disturbed her more.

Still, she put the mental gears into neutral and strode right into House's office. "Just act natural. He expects you to want to talk about it, feel about it, analyze it. Don't give him what he wants." House had his feet up on his desk and a magazine in his lap when she opened the door. He looked at her as he'd looked at her on any other day, detachment and annoyance just behind his eyes.

"You're late."

"Yeah, I took a nap and forgot to set my alarm. Sorry."

He didn't look up from his magazine. "I thought you'd have caught on by now; I'm the only one who's allowed to stroll in here whenever he feels like it." He tossed a folder at her. "Room 311. 39 year old female, history of uterine fibroids, woke up this morning with tinnitus and paralysis in her hands. MRI and nerve conduction tests negative. Catch up with Chase and Foreman. And make a pot of coffee before you leave. Apparently Foreman is so sick of Black jokes, he refuses to make black coffee for fear I'll ridicule it too."

Cameron smiled. Maybe this would just get swept under the rug. After all, there was no reason to get worked up about it. They were both adults, and today was not yesterday, the mood was different, the day was different, they could both let it be what it had been and move on from there.

"Oh and Cameron? It's tomorrow. Am I still beautiful?"

Or maybe not…. And yes, he was. "Sad he doesn't see it," she thought. "but maybe we're all better off that he doesn't." She still let her eyes linger for a hidden moment and tried to memorize the disordered curls of his hair, the solid lines of his chest, the sensuous curves of his arms, the tempest that raged in his storm-blue eyes. She'd tried a thousand times to memorize his face, to record in her mind the way he moved, but she never could. No matter how many times she stared, she always needed another look.

She sat in her car for a good 15 minutes that evening before making up her mind. He was going to make snide comments until the end of time if she didn't play into his hands, and letting him win was better than putting up with snarky jokes and insinuations in front of Chase and Foreman forever. She knocked on House's door three times, four, and finally he opened it when he was convinced whoever it was wasn't going to go away. He smiled when he saw her, but it wasn't out of happiness or surprise. His smile said that he knew she'd be there.

"Back for more already? I'd love to, but I'm not as young as I used to be you, know, so don't be disappointed if I – "

"We can't do that again."

"Do what? Stay up all night playing poker? I have no idea what _you're_ talking about, all I know is a man of my age can't do that 4 or 5 nights a week, and keep up with his drinking and pill popping too, much less afford to do so. Wilson beats me every time, and even if we just play for nickels – "

"House, for god's sake. I was referring to this morning."

"Oh – you mean in my office, when you were digging your nails into my shoulders, whimpering my name. That?"

Even the memory of it turned her on. "Yeah. That. Us having sex. I don't regret it, but it can't happen again. We just let the moment overtake us, and I think we should just let it be what it was and leave it at that."

"OK."

"OK? That's all you're going to say is 'OK'?"

"Well, what would you like me to say? You've obviously made your mind up."

"OK then."

She turned to leave, having said her piece and not wanting to get into it – whatever "it" might be – with House, because he never, ever let anything to this easily, especially something he wanted as much as he wanted her. Or maybe he hadn't really wanted her at all? God damn it! There she was, letting him screw with her head again, this time for _not_ putting up a fight. She should just…

And then she felt his arm slide around her waist from behind. She stiffened and froze, not sure what to do. He didn't do anything else, just stood there, behind her, not pulling her closer but not letting her go either. She sighed. "House, you're so predictable. I knew you couldn't just let it…" She lost her thought, her words, and her breath when she felt his lips against the back of her neck. He was just barely touching her, just letting his mouth dance across her skin. He tightened his grip around her waist a little and she craned her neck to one side. He opened his mouth and kissed and nibbled a slow trail from the base of her skull down to her shoulder. The back of her neck just so happened to be her most sensitive spot, too, and she just knew that he knew it. She didn't let on, couldn't let on, how much she loved to be kissed there or she'd be putty in his hands again. He brought his other arm around her waist, so that he was holding her encircled in his arms and repeated the same treatment on the other side of her neck. She tried to control her breathing, tried to get her flesh to ignore the delicious scrape of his whiskers, and tried to get her nose to block out the spicy smell of his cologne.

"House…" There she was again, protesting with nothing to say. She put her hands over his, trying to pry his hands apart, and he let go of his left but only used his right to pull to the side and get her a little off balance. When she leaned forward to steady herself he used her own momentum against her and spun her around, pinning her against the door, his hands under her arms so she no other choice than to use him for balance, grabbing instinctively onto his shoulders. He forced his left thigh between her legs and pressed his body against her, his hands still on the door.

"We're back to 'House' now?" he growled into her ear. "You only call me Greg, then, when you're begging me to make you come? Is that how it is?" He bent his elbows so he was leaning up against her, letting her feel how aroused he was. Her mind immediately flashed back to 12 hours before and she was gone again. He knew she couldn't resist him, she was addicted. Had always been. Just a little taste and the need for him burned in her veins.

She linked her fingers together behind his neck and rested her forearms on his shoulders. He felt that slight gesture of surrender and took full advantage of it. He kissed her violently as his fingers made quick work of the button and zipper of her pants. He slid his hand roughly inside and started to stroke her. Slowly at first, until his fingers slickened with her wetness. She moaned into his throat and ran her fingers through is hair, her hand eventually settling at the back of his neck. He knew just how touch her, the right speed and pressure at just the right times. She was so close, so close so fast, but she needed this, she'd just let him get her off, dirty and fast just like this, after all it wasn't her fault, she didn't ask for it, he'd just pinned her up against the door and made her…

"Oh yesssss" she closed her eyes, her breathing sped up and her muscles tensed as she felt the now-familiar tingle start at the base of her spine and shoot down the insides of her thighs.

And then he stopped. Her eyes shot open in confusion, just a caress or two more and she'd have gone over the edge. So, he wanted it this way. Her hands flew to the button of his jeans, she didn't care if he wanted his first, she just had to have what only he could give her. But his hands stilled hers.

"You were right, Cameron." He adjusted her pants for her and smiled calmly at her. "I'm sorry. We can't do this again. You should go, it's late." She stared at him in disbelief. "Call me when you get home so I know you got there safe."

"House, I…"

"See? I was right. One more stroke and I bet I'd have been Greg."

She could have screamed in frustration, but she was too busy trying to figure out what kind of game this was, and too busy trying to get her pulse down to a level that wasn't going to induce a stroke. She closed the door quietly behind her. She also didn't call him when she got home.


	3. Thunderstorm

**3**

She couldn't sleep, and she was pissed about it. The Vicodin, scotch and god knows what else House did had probably knocked him out hours ago and Cameron was starting to see the advantages to such a lifestyle as the minutes ticked by on her alarm clock. _He_ wasn't up consumed with desire. _His_ mind wasn't racing along three different roads at once, trying to figure out what the hell was going on and what to do about it. No, he was long in a drug induced, dreamless sleep, in total disregard of the fact that he'd tied Cameron in knots and between the humming in her brain and the humming between her thighs, there would be no rest for her tonight. She knew she could do nothing about the former short of stealing a few of House's Vicodin and chasing them with several healthy swigs of whatever she had in the liquor cabinet, which wasn't exactly her preferred method of problem solving anyway. She'd tried to do something about the latter with a well practiced hand and a few choice fantasies, but that had only made things worse. Instead of taking the edge off of her desire, it just reminded her of what she didn't have. At 5 AM she gave up, got up, and went running, trying to get all that penned up energy out her somehow.

At 8:00 she walked through the doors of Princeton Plainsboro, knowing today was not going to be smooth or simple. House was both predictable and unpredictable at the same time. He was a lot like a thunderstorm; you knew you were going to get one when the blue and grey clouds showed up, but you couldn't put money on if you were going to get rain, hail, wind, thunder, lightning or a special blend of any or all of those. She also realized that she kept likening House to natural disasters, and snickered to herself when she realized that should probably tell her something right there. Regardless, she knew he'd have something up his sleeve, she just couldn't begin to guess at what.

The morning was strangely normal. Cameron made the coffee, which brought a smirk to the lips of House, who arrived at 9:30 with bagels, eating two himself before giving the bag to the team. The patient with the tinnitus and paralysis likely had nothing more than MS, which bored House to no end so true to form he ordered up a series of frivolous and expensive tests to entertain himself, get the team out of his office, and annoy Cuddy. Never let it be said that Gregory House couldn't multitask. Chase and Foreman headed up to the MS patient's room, and Cameron sequestered herself in the lab for a couple of hours, helping run tests and read results, and hobnobbing with some of the interns.

Shortly after lunch, a storm cloud began to build. She heard the bell of the elevator and knew there was only one person who would be using it at this time. House strolled into the lab, leaned backwards against the lab table, munching casually on a Rueben sandwich.

"You OK Cameron? You look a little tired. Late night? Hot date?"

"I'm fine. It's not amyloidosis. But you knew that."

"You're sure? You don't see a hint of red on that slide?"

Cameron could almost smell the rain. "Not a trace. But," she sighed to herself "you're more than welcome to take a look." She turned the microscope toward House.

He stepped toward her, finishing the last bite of his sandwich. He stood just to her left, resting his right hand on the counter before she had a chance to move. At just under 6' 3", he was easily able to use the microscope over her shoulder, which left Cameron in a very intimate and uncomfortable position. She was suddenly strangely warm despite it always being cool in the lab. She tried to convince herself that it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that as he "used the microscope", House had also managed to lean against her in the most sensual pose that he could while still dressed and keeping up a guise of professionalism. She concentrated on keeping her breathing slow and even, on forcing down the slight blush that had risen in her cheeks, knowing that he was observing her to see the effect he had on her, that he reveled in being able torture her, especially after last night.

"You're right. Not a hint of a red halo. Good job." As he stepped away from the microscope, he let his fingers trail lightly and slowly down her spine. She had to clench her teeth to keep from shivering. This was not over yet. The storm clouds hadn't broken.

Cameron finished helping with a few more tests and then headed upstairs for lunch. At 2:00 she'd be assisting a surgery, so she wanted to have a full stomach and little bit of caffeine in her before that. She moved her tray down the line, contemplating what she wanted, eventually deciding on a chicken salad sandwich and a can of Pepsi. She was just about to pay for her meal when a bag of chips fell from the sky and landed on her tray. _Here comes the hail_. "And those too." She paid for her meal and House's chips, handed him the bad wordlessly and went to sit down. A minute later he joined her. Not that she'd thought anything else would happen.

"Coma Guy didn't want to watch Prescription Passion with you today?"

"No, Coma Guy was getting his sponge bath. I wanted to maintain my appetite. Besides, it's much more fun to eat with a friend, don't you think?"

"Yeah, too bad I'm not."

"Oh, you _wound_ me Cameron." Her name came out a little muffled as he shoved a couple chips into his mouth. "Go ahead and try to hurt me so that you don't have to deal with your feelings for me. Maybe it'll work this time," he suggested cheerfully.

"I don't have any feelings for you. Unless you count exasperation."

"It's a start."

"What? You have feelings for me?"

"Oh god no," he said in his usual sarcastic tone. This was also the exact moment that his hand began to creep up her leg. She crossed her legs, trying to give him the hint and also trying to swallow her food without choking as her breath caught in her throat.

"Not in the mood today?"

"Just….don't. OK? Don't turn this into something it's not, and don't ruin the memory."

"Interesting. Normally it's only good memories that are at risk of being ruined."

"Of course it was a good memory. But that's where we should _leave it_. Which is what I said last night, remember?"

"Oh. Right. I must have gotten that confused with "Oh god yes House please don't stop." Surely you can see how such a mix-up might have occurred. My sincere apologies."

"It's not my fault that you can't take 'no' for an answer."

"It's not my fault you can't resist me."

"I can. I did."

"If that's what you'd like to tell yourself, then I won't remind you that it was _me_ that pried _your _desperate hands off of my fly last night, not the other way around. Oops. Sorry. I guess I….just reminded you. My bad. "

"Last night was a mistake. I'm only human, you know. Must I point out that the bulk of the guilt that some rape victims feel stems from the fact that it felt good, even though they didn't want it?"

"How many more mistakes would you like to make? Because it's common knowledge that I never learn. And I hardly raped you. Unless you'd like me to. I never thought you'd be one that liked it rough, after all you were sleeping with _Chase _and you could probably kick his ass if you ever felt like it, but I'm stronger than I look, so if you ever wanna try it, just…"

At that moment his pager went off. He pulled it off the waistband of his pants and looked at it. "Well, as much as I've loved our conversation, it would appear that MS Lady does not have MS, because MS doesn't usually induce cardiac arrest. We can continue this another time though." He stood up to leave, took a step and then turned and took a step back. "Wouldn't want to forget these. Can't restart hearts on an empty stomach." He grabbed his bag of chips off of her tray. As he stood back up he whispered in her ear "And you can't forget me….or what's empty without me."

At that moment she wasn't sure who she hated more: him, or her. Because he was right. House was always right.

The surgery was uneventful. It was just a simple hernia repair, which was a very good thing because as much as she valued professionalism, Cameron was distracted throughout the entire thing. After work, she headed to the bar for a drink and some time to clear her head. Where House drank to block everything out, she drank almost as a meditation. A little bit of alcohol slowed her thoughts down enough to make it easier for her to handle them one by one, and broke down some of her internal walls so she could be honest with herself. She chose a seat at the end of the bar where she hopefully wouldn't be disturbed and could sit and think, unnoticed.

House walked out the doors at a little after 5 and passing the bar, noticed a familiar, but out-of-place face at the end of the bar. He'd actually driven Cameron to drink. He wasn't sure if he felt proud or a little guilty, but he knew before he even consciously decided that he was going to join her. She was staring into her glass as he sat down on the stool next to her, ordered himself a drink and another for her.

"They say it's not good to drink alone…sign of a problem or something like that."

She was getting genuinely angry with him, but tried not to show it. "You drink alone all the time."

"Exactly the point." He didn't break eye contact with her, he wasn't going to let her out of this one that easily.

"House, what the hell are you doing here? If you came by to make me squirm some more, can't it wait until tomorrow? That was your plan anyway, wasn't it? Can't I have a couple of hours of peace and quiet without you showing up and reminding me that I shouldn't have let my hormones get the better of me?"

"I wanted a drink."

"So go home and drink. It's cheaper anyway."

"Money is no object."

"Look, what do you want me to say? That I couldn't sleep last night because I wanted you so much I debated driving back to your apartment and giving you whatever it was you wanted just so you'd make the aching go away? That I think we should get married and buy a little ranch style with a white picket fence, get a dog and have 2.5 kids? Or that I don't? Is that what you want? Do you even _know_ what you want? Even if any of that were true, which, by the way, it _isn't_, there's no way I could tell you any of it because I know exactly what would happen: I'd give you a little bit of vulnerability, try to share something with you, connect with you, and all you'd do is throw it back in my face and never let me live it down. So whatever you want me to say or do, it isn't going to happen because you're not going to make me hate myself any more. Yesterday morning was nice, it was really nice. And you know why I did it? Because you actually seemed human for a change. But, true to form, I gave you an inch and you've taken a mile. There's no way I can take it back, but you're really making me wish it hadn't ever happened. Now just go home and let me finish my beer."

"Fine. But you know why you're so damn angry at me? Because for you, looking at me is like looking in a mirror. We're the same and you know it. The only difference is I can admit it, and I don't put on any airs to the contrary. You just keep trying to tell yourself you're so well adjusted, which is exactly why you're _not_. You pretend like you feel so much, you always want to do the right thing, you're so sensitive and caring and easily hurt, always want to take the moral high ground, but the fact of the matter is, when it comes time to feel some real feelings and deal with a real interaction, you can't handle it either. So don't try to play your "go away a little closer" game with me, I invented the damn thing and I'm _way _better at it than you. You either want me or you don't. That's what it comes down to. And as for everything else? Screw it. The bottom line is it's "yes" or "no". I'm pushing you to do what you want to do anyway, or you wouldn't have done it in the first place, and you'd rather play games. For once it's not me being the manipulative bastard nor is it me complicating something that doesn't need to be complicated. And for your information, I know very well what I want."

"Regarding what?" She wanted some sort of specificity from him.

"Regarding _everything_. I don't just act and then worry about it later. I know exactly what I'm going to do and why before I do it."

"So what the hell was last night then, huh?"

"Last night was you showing up at my door not knowing which way you wanted to go and hoping I'd decide it for you so you wouldn't have to deal with thinking and feeling. You could have had what you wanted, you could have gotten some sleep last night, all you had to do was commit to one choice or the other, show me you felt something, anything, even if it was loathing, resentment and hatred, all you had to do was make a god damn choice and you couldn't do it. I showed you the consequences of your actions and now you're pissed at me for it. I know that game too, by the way. Finish your beer and I'll see you tomorrow." He got up and left.

Cameron swallowed the last sip and went home. She tried to read and couldn't concentrate. Her mind was racing. There was no question in it that she wanted House. No, she _craved_ him. No man had ever, ever touched her like he did, she'd never desired anyone as much as she desired him. She'd never let herself be taken like that before, and he was right about that. It embarrassed her a little. On that level, she understood House. He always had to be in control, even if it meant doing something, anything, or everything way over the top. No one could get one up on you if you were already past the point that most sane people would have stopped. No one could hurt you if you didn't offer yourself up to be hurt. No one could judge you if you didn't care about anyone's opinion. So why was this so difficult for her? If she understood what she was doing, why couldn't she get a handle on herself and stop all this schoolgirl ruminating?

The answer really was obvious to her, and had been all along. Because it mattered. She wanted House, she cared what he thought. She wanted him to want her back. It would hurt if he didn't. It would hurt if she gave so much in return for what he always gave back, which was nothing. But had he really given nothing? Was he just too scared to admit that he wanted her too? Maybe that's what he was trying to say at the bar, that he wanted to her to commit to one choice or the other because he couldn't stand to ask and risk rejection. But that was insane. House, vulnerable? Never.

"Gaaaah! Allison you are going to drive yourself _crazy_! You're a grown woman, stop this and _act_ like it!" She didn't know what she was going to do or say when she got there, but she was going to House's apartment and they were going to settle this.

He opened on the second knock this time. The look in his eyes was interested but exhausted too. He stepped back without a word to let her come in.

"I assume you're here for a reason, as you're not in the habit of making social calls. When you visit the homes of your colleagues, it's usually to sleep with them, correct? If you want Cuddy's address, I'll give it to you. And my video camera too."

"House, I…don't do this. I came here to decide."

"And what have you decided?" He still hadn't moved from where he'd been standing.

"I don't know. But you were right. It just…it scared me. You were so different yesterday morning, stronger than I'd ever seen you, but weaker too, and it just effected me and I thought that once it was over – "

"Once I wasn't frustrated and vulnerable any more the desire would go away?"

"Maybe."

"But it didn't, did it?"

"No." She stared down at her shoes, ashamed and glad at the same time that she'd finally said it.

He sat down on the sofa and looked up at her. "And that bothers you. You're not in control of yourself, but you think if you can just master this, deny your psychology, your biology, shut off the hormones, pheromones, and whatever it is that makes you want me then everything will be OK. If you could do that, get me out of your system, shut off everything that it's natural to want, what would it really change? You lose one challenge, but then you'll just have to face another at some point. It's OK to want, Cameron. It's OK to pursue. If we were all perfectly happy with everything we had, humanity would die in a mound of its own waste."

He was right. She always knew he was. "Where does it end, though? If we give in to everything we want, we destroy ourselves with our own hedonism. We do everything we want to do and nothing we have to do and humanity still dies, just of excess rather than apathy."

"So you think that admitting your desire for me, indulging a little bit, will start you on a self destructive spiral of instant gratification, and you'll give up everything that ever meant anything to you to satisfy the desire of the moment? As flattering as that is, even I can't change who you are or what's important to you. All I know is you're standing here in my apartment talking about the apocalypse when all I really need is a simple yes – or – no. It's not the end of days, Cameron. The horsemen are not outside and it's too cold for locusts." He stood up, walked over to her, put his hands on her hips, firmly, jerking her towards him a little bit. "Now, if you want to say no, I'll take my hands off of you, no questions asked, and I won't try anything. You can walk right out that door, and I will never say another word about it, never make a joke about it, nothing. We can pretend it never happened. But you will never, ever have me again. If you say yes, I'll finish what I started last night and more. You can use me any way you like until you've had your fill. But if that's your choice, I'll take you at your word and tonight, I'm not stopping half way through. Which is it going to be?"

She was strangely calm as she stared into his eyes, searching for some sign that he wasn't being completely reasonable and didn't see one. The storm had broken, and now it was time to clear away the downed branches. She turned what he'd said over in her mind for half a minute as he waited with no expression on his face, just waited for her decision.

"Yes." She couldn't stand the thought of never having him again, never having the chance to touch him again, and as much as it frustrated and distracted her, never having his hands on her again. His eyes never showed it, but he was relieved.

He still said nothing, just took her hand and led her the few feet down the hall to his bedroom. Once inside, he sat down on the edge of the bed and she turned to face him. His hands cradled her at the small of her back and she moved slowly, afraid of breaking the moment. She bent her head and kissed him, one hand at the back of his head and the other on his shoulder. He tasted different than he had a day ago and even last night. She couldn't detect the burnt oak of scotch on his breath, what her tongue picked up was purely his essence. She kissed him deeper, taking in a deep breath through her nose and tilting her head, she unbuttoned his shirt and her nails grazed his chest. She felt his fingers at the hem of her top and his hands slid up, without separating her mouth from his she pulled it over her head.

He broke their kiss and looked at her, pupils dilated and a hurricane in his eyes. "What do you want? I made you a promise if you said yes…talk to me."

"Finish what you started last night."

"That's all?" She didn't know if it was surprise or disappointment in his voice, but she heard something other than lust.

"For starters, yeah."

His hands made quick work of the hook closure and zipper of her dress slacks and pushed them down, along with her panties. "I'm gonna take you thong shopping," he commented when he found another pair of bikinis. She rested her hands on his shoulders for support, knowing she'd need it as soon as he stopped evaluating her wardrobe. He pushed himself back on the bed a little bit to give himself more room and ran the back of his hand up her thigh. She bit her lip reflexively, her body taut with anticipation. He turned his hand and just cupped her gently, felt her rock herself against his hand. She remembered last night, how he could have made her come in less than a minute if he hadn't stopped and wondered if he was going to drag it out and tease her tonight, or just take the edge off and let the rest of the night proceed at a slower pace. She wasn't sure which one she wanted more but she was going to go crazy if he didn't move his hand.

He splayed his fingers as he pulled his hand back, dragging his first finger over the sensitive nub of nerves that throbbed for more of his touch. She felt her knees buckle a little and leaned forward. He started to draw slow, lazy circles around her hardened flesh and she felt her muscles involuntarily clench in anticipation of what was to come. He sped up his pace a little bit and she moaned and held him tighter. He pressed harder, but went slower and she started the steady climb toward the release she needed so badly. She rubbed the back of his neck absently, lost in pleasure.

"You've got the best fucking hands, Greg…" He smiled when she said his name.

"That close already, huh?"

"No…but getting there." His fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot and her hips jerked towards him. "Oh YES right there…right there." He was going to do it again, damn it. Her muscles contracted rhythmically, she swayed against his hand. "More". This was the point where he'd stopped last night and her body remembered that, hovering right at the brink but afraid to go over. His free hand coiled around her hips to hold her steady and he sped up his strokes a little bit, trying to help her out. Her whole body was the prisoner of his right hand, her world revolved around his fingers. She was painfully aroused, his hand felt charged with electricity, her moans took on a sharpened and frustrated tone and her body strained for relief. He touched her perfectly, better even than her own hand, she ground against him, needing….

"Let go…c'mon. I'm not gonna stop. I know you need this." Her brain registered the words and sent them to her body. Her fingers curled around the muscles of House's shoulders and he tightened his grip on her as the first spasm hit her. He backed off the firm pressure of his fingers and stroked her gently, going slower and slower until she rested her head on the top of his and relaxed. He could hear her heart slamming in her chest, smiled at the satisfaction he knew it signified. "See? The world didn't end" he remarked into her stomach.

"That's what you think," she said with a faint and satisfied laugh. Finally able to stand on her own, she stepped out of her pants and lay down on the bed. "Get out of those pants. I want more."

"Subtle," he snarked as he stood up, slipping out his shirt as he did it, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans and hesitated a minute at his boxers. She read his mind and looked up at him. "I don't care about it. It's just a scar. Everyone has them." He leaned over and shut the lights off anyway before taking them off. There was still enough light to see by, and best of all for him to see her by, but he wasn't ready for that just yet.

He laid down and stretched out, silently offering himself to her. She straddled him, not resting on his legs but on her knees and surveyed his body. He was gorgeous to her eyes. She liked his chest the most. He was far more muscular than most people would think at first glance, with well defined pecs and arms that when they were wrapped around her made her feel like she could stand in front of a jet engine and not be moved. She leaned forward a little and flattened her hands against him so the tips of her fingers were just barely wrapped around the top of his shoulders and drew them slowly down his body, nails just grazing his skin. He exhaled slowly, relaxing at the gentle tingle her touch made him feel. Her hands rested on his hips and she used the solid structure of his bones as support to slide back a little bit on the bed.

He was hard as steel, his eyes passion clouded and hazy as he watched her size him up. The close examination made him a little self conscious, but watching her devour him with her eyes made him more turned on than it did nervous. She ran one finger down the length of him, slowly, mentally mapping out where he was most sensitive, then closed her fingers around him on the return trip as she stroked him all the way to the tip. He wasn't much longer than average, but he was thick, which in her mind was better. She'd been with large men before, and found it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Just a little too deep, or at the wrong angle and it hurt. Not in a good way, either. No, House fit her perfectly, she thought as she stroked him languidly and though neither of them thought it possible, felt him get harder under her hand.

Cameron loved the control she had over him and figured that he must be feeling a little like he made her feel. She watched his head tilt slightly back and his lips part as she teased him, loved the firm pressure of his hands on her hips, his muscles tensed in anticipation, and the way he moaned softly when she ran her fingers over his most sensitive parts made her literally ache. He was a little less inhibited this time, and she could guess what he was feeling by the way he responded to her. Her hand on him was too gentle and slow to push him too far and while she knew that he wanted more, he also knew he'd get it, eventually, and was enjoying the sweet frustration as much as she was.

It became a contest of sorts to see who would break first. His hands slid up her sides to her breasts and it only took her a few seconds of guidance for him to figure out the way she liked to be touched. Still, her hand maintained the same slow, agonizing pace. He slipped his hand between her legs again, and felt her even wetter than she'd been before. One finger, then two slipped inside her easily. With a throaty moan she sank down onto his fingers. "Be careful," she warned him. "Unless you're feeling extremely generous tonight, you'd better watch how you touch me."

"You don't think I could get you off a third time?"

"Not the point. Make me come as hard as you did last time and I might not have the energy to let you try."

"My mouth is as talented as my fingers. Would you really pass up the chance to find that out?"

She nearly went off at the thought of his soft, warm tongue against her. "No, but then I'd never get around to fucking you."

Without missing a beat with his hand, he reached over into the night table drawer and handed her a condom. "Up to you which you want more." His fingers were getting increasingly moist, and he could feel her squeeze them tighter with each stroke. "But by the feel of things, you'd better hurry up and pick one". As if to prove his point he started to rub her with his thumb.

"Greg, stop. You gotta stop. I can't…oh god. I can't…please."

He stopped moving for a second to give her time to figure out what she wanted. She tore the condom wrapper open and with hands that shook and a little bit of trouble, eventually got it on. He slowly withdrew his fingers, sending another shock through her body. "How do you want it?" She couldn't believe he was really doing this, letting her use him for her pleasure like this, submitting and deferring to her.

She didn't give him an answer in words, just slowly lowered herself down onto him. The first down stroke was absolutely euphoric. She loved the way it hurt, a dull, throbbing ache as he penetrated her, how she had to get used to his width before she could move. It made her feel more feminine somehow, to have to work a little for her pleasure. She started to grind against him, moving just an inch or so at a time, angling her body and shifting her hips to find the spot that it felt the best. He moved just enough with her to give her a little resistance, something to push against and a bit of friction. She braced her hands against his chest and ground against him again, and then she found it. "Mmm… CHRIST….yeah. Oh fuck you feel good."

He'd never heard her curse at all, much less like this and it made his blood boil. He dropped his hands back to her hips so that she wouldn't have to do all the work and pushed up, hitting the same spot again. Her brow furrowed and her breath caught halfway between in and out. "There? That how you like it?" Her fingers curled into his skin and she threw her head back. She looked so fucking sexy, so _primal _as she rode him, used him as a tool for her own pleasure. She rocked her hips again, trying to get more contact where she needed it. He thrust upwards again, hitting the same spot, he hadn't moved a fraction of an inch since the last time. He wanted to make sure he gave her what she wanted. She whimpered deep in her throat, it sounded almost like a growl. They found their rhythm, slowly at first, she'd rock her hips forward at the same time he'd thrust upwards, and with every stroke she'd feel like she couldn't take it, like she'd pass out from the pleasure, but every time she did it again, harder and a little faster until she'd built herself up to such an extreme of excitement that she was almost too sensitive to be touched anymore and she knew she had to finish it.

She took House's hand and put it between their bodies, knowing that he knew what to do. She slowed the motion of her hips, absolutely unable to stand such an intense sensation anymore and when she did that, he knew exactly what she wanted. "Now?" He moved his fingers against her softly, barely touching her at first. "Yeah," she whispered, "now." He pressed a little harder, just to see how much she could take before it was too much and she moved against him again. His fingers found their mark, barely moving against the place she was most sensitive and she ground against him, using his cock to stroke her inside too. He knew she was using him but he also knew that she needed him to finish her off, that she was too sensitive to ride him any harder and come that way. He stroked her rhythmically and felt the muscles around him clench and hold, her back arched and her eyes slammed shut. Right at the peak of her pleasure he thrust into her a final time and let go too, his mind turning to light and water as she came down and rested her head against his chest.

"I can't stay," she said when she could breath again. She felt like she needed to explain…something.

"I never asked you to." The words came off his lips level and even, not implying that he did or didn't want her to. "Don't complicate this. I can sleep by myself just fine." He stroked her hair and smiled slightly.

"OK. I just…."

"I know. This is me you're talking to. Remember?"

She got up and started putting her clothes back on as he wrapped himself in a towel that was hanging from the bedpost, tucking it in around his waist. He watched her without a word, and she looked back over her shoulder, smiling with her eyes more than her mouth. He heard the door shut and got up to slip on a pair of pajama pants, then crawled under the covers and fell asleep. He could still smell her scent on his pillow.


	4. Fear and Loathing

**4**

House woke up stiff and sore, more so than usual. He reached for the bottle of pills, then opened it, shook a pill out, and popped it into his mouth all one-handed. "Nobody should be this good at opening a bottle of narcotics. Why can't I have a useful skill instead?" He was feeling particularly self-deprecating this morning. More so than usual in that department as well. Part of him had wanted Cameron to stay with him. The other part didn't want her to see this particular portion of his day. It's much easier to idealize someone when you don't see them struggle to get out of bed and have to rely on heavy doses of painkillers to do it. Of course, that came with a trade-off: when one is idealized, they can only disappoint. Right now, Allison Cameron saw only the best of him, and her mind filled in the rest. He was sure she knew most of what went on in his life, but knowing something and having to see it and handle it were so different as to be mutually exclusive. Still, it depressed him a little, knowing that she turned a blind eye to this facet of him. It was bound to be shoved in her face at some point, and then he'd be knocked off the pedestal she put him on. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Did he want to be wanted for something he wasn't, or not wanted for what he was? Neither seemed too appealing, especially now when it was Cameron who was making the choice. Deep down he knew that if she was going to be with him, she was going to have to accept his nihilism, pill popping, arrogance, alcoholism, cynicism, self-loathing and anything else he'd forgotten to add the list of Things Cameron Chose Not to See and he didn't think she was prepared for that. He didn't think _anyone_ was prepared for that. He knew he wouldn't be.

As he lay there waiting for the Vicodin to kick in so he could at least stand up, his mind replayed the past couple of days. First he'd let his guard down for a night, gotten frustrated and a little neurotic. Couple that with the fact that he looked more handsome than usual, and Cameron calls him both human and beautiful in the same night. Afraid she'd gotten too close, but also not wanting to completely distance herself, she shows up at his door telling him she'd made a mistake and then proceeds to be more than willing to duplicate said mistake. About 24 hours later, she takes down a few of her defenses and admits she wants him. She screws him nearly insensible and then leaves almost immediately after. Had he been at her place, however, he'd have probably done the same thing. Otherwise, they'd have woken up together not knowing what to say to one another, plus she'd have had to see his morning ritual of cussing, narcotic consumption, suicidal ideation and limping. He really couldn't blame her. Although, if he was totally honest with himself, he wished that she'd stayed. Even if she couldn't handle the morning after, he'd have still gotten to spend one night sleeping next to her, and that would have almost been worth it.

He felt the low, fuzzy euphoria descend over his eyes and decided to try standing. The pills had done their work, and he limped into the bathroom. He stood shirtless before the mirror, tracing a couple faint red lines on his chest; calling cards from Cameron. He smiled as he remembered how and when they'd gotten there. It was no secret to most people that he didn't care too much how he looked, and he wouldn't have denied to it anyone that asked either. He hadn't really taken too much stock of his appearance for the last 5 years, as a matter of fact. He got his hair cut when it got too long, put clothes on when he couldn't be naked, practiced the usual personal hygiene and that was about it. This morning, though, he looked a little closer, trying to figure out what Cameron saw in him, at least physically, that appealed to her so much. He hoped he could see it too, but as he analyzed his own reflection, he came up with nothing. He didn't consider himself hideous, but she could do much better. Probably had done much better. He certainly didn't see anything beautiful in the mirror. Maybe once he had, when he'd been younger and his eyes weren't dulled by pain, cynicism, lost hope and disappointment, when his shoulders held the posture of youth and his hair was a deep shade of coffee brown. Maybe then he'd been beautiful. He wasn't now, and he knew that despite how astute Cameron was, she couldn't see 20 years into the past. No…only House himself could do that, although he tried not to. That's what the pills and bourbon were for. Who wanted to see the Ghost of Lives Past every time they looked in the mirror?

Shower, clothes, two more pills and espresso. He figured he'd let the uppers and the downers fight it out and see which one was the victor and then spend his day accordingly. Through the door at work and up to his office. House felt sullen and moody and didn't want to be bothered, which made him feel even more pathetic. He couldn't even enjoy the morning after a beautiful woman half his age had looked him square in the eyes and said outright that she wanted him.

The bottom line, though, was that he wanted to be something more than wanted. It was nice, but eventually there was a hole where something else should be, and if it wasn't there, wanted wasn't enough. At least if he pushed people away he was alone by his choosing. It seemed a little ridiculous anyway. He was well beyond the giddy, hand-holding, flower buying, 4-hour-phone-conversation-having stage in his life. That was obvious. He tried to picture himself acting that way in his mind and didn't get past the door of the flower shop. No, he was at the part of his life of well-worn relationships, comfortable silences, dates at jazz concerts and home cooked meals. Too bad you couldn't get to that stage without the giddy hand-holding. Therein lay his problem.

He had almost reached the bottom of his self loathing funk when giddy walked through the door. "Greg, do you want anything for lunch? I'm heading down to the cafeteria." Cameron had called him by his first name, in public, fully dressed. It sounded strange. Good, but damned _weird_ too. Nobody called him Greg. Well…Stacy, but…

"No, I just got here."

"That doesn't mean you ate."

"Or that I want to."

"You OK?"

House tapped his cane with his first finger. "You mean you've never noticed this before?"

"I meant otherwise."

"There is no 'otherwise'. I'm fine."

"You want me to leave." She wasn't asking him.

"It's nothing personal." He just hurt in every way possible for a man to hurt, and he wanted to be left alone.

"No. It never is. I should know that by now." She turned and walked out of his office. He'd been wrong. He hadn't hurt in every way possible. At least not until she'd said that. He absently fingered a paperclip on his blotter, staring at it, watching it spin around and around, listening to his mind cry, wanting to go after her, wanting to forget about her and let her walk out of his life, no, _force_ her out of his life. She just didn't get it. Being wanted, cared about – it hurt. Everyone in House's life who had ever cared about him hurt him. His father had hated him. His _own father hated him_. They'd only had one child. It was like his father didn't want to have to divide his rage up between several offspring. That had been his first experience with love. The second had been Stacy.

He took the elevator down to the cafeteria and found where Cameron was sitting. He pulled up a chair next to her without pretense, and spat his words at her without heat. "Don't pull that victim shit on me. _You_ left."

"What else was I supposed to do? I didn't have any clothes with me and…"

"I'm not talking about logistics and you know it. If you think I don't understand, I do. I'm not a pretty sight, even less so after I've been asleep for 8 hours and am going into low-grade withdrawal and even less than _that _after my leg has had that many hours to stiffen up. I'm a big boy, and I can take it. I wouldn't want to wake up with me either, in fact I don't, but I also have no choice. You do and you did. You took it. No harm done. But don't throw your abandonment issues onto me."

"It's not like you would have let me stay anyway, regardless of if you understand why I left or not."

"How do you know that? It's not like you asked."

"Oh come on…we both know that if I'd showed up at your door last night with a change of clothes you'd have thrown me out, ceremoniously or unceremoniously. I just saved you the trouble. You told me not to complicate this. So I didn't."

Maybe she was right. He couldn't say for sure. He did know that he would have liked – would still like – the chance to find out what he would have done. He'd know his decision and his reasons for it when the time came, but he'd been robbed of that opportunity.

"Ever stop to think that might not have been what I meant?"

"From someone else, maybe. From you? No."

There wasn't much left to say after that. In fact, that hadn't been what he'd meant, he just knew that it was probably best to let it be – whatever it was that they were doing – be what it was. He never meant that he just wanted to get his and then be left alone. It didn't hurt him that she'd left. Disappointed him a little, yes. But it didn't hurt. He really did understand. But her words, her assumptions, they hurt. "Quite the reputation you've carved out for yourself." He hated himself today. Absolutely _hated_ himself. And he hurt. Through his muscles, bones, heart and soul, he hurt. Excruciatingly. And what was worse, was he couldn't ask for what he needed. He knew he should, but he just didn't have that much humility in him. Besides, what he needed was what was hurting him.

He left. He was useless in this condition anyway.

It was the first bar House found on that side of town, so he went in. He wanted the anonymity, wanted to sit unnoticed among a crowd that was as bad off or worse off than he was. Truckers missing teeth, heroin addicted girls who fucked for drugs but could deny they were prostitutes if they called them "boyfriends" instead of Johns or dealers, men and women who'd been miserable for so long that down felt like up. He wanted to be a cliché for just one night. He didn't want his limp and his cane to seem out of place, he didn't want the sadness in his eyes to stand out. He wanted to be forgotten. He drank until he couldn't see and then he drank some more.

The woman walked up to him without him seeing. She tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around. His blue eyes met eyes more red than blue. "You holding?" she asked him. He fished in his pocket for the bottle of pills, shook out 4 or 5 and handed them to her. She opened her fist and looked annoyed and confused. "That's it?"

"It's all I got. Street drugs'll kill you. You never know what's in that shit."

She sidled up closer to him. She knew the overcoat he had on was not cheap. He had money. Whether or not he used it, or what he spent it on she could only guess. But he had it. He may just have something else too. She put her arm around his shoulders and whispered in his ear "C'mon…if you're holding out, I'll make it worth your while." He pried her hand off of him.

"I already told you." He reached back in his pocket and handed her the rest of the bottle, half full. "Take them. I have more where that came from."

He turned around, pushing the woman out of his field of vision and his mind, ordered another shot and swallowed it without tasting it, then asked for another. "No way man." He was accustomed to being cut off, it was best not to argue. He fished in his pocket for his keys. "And you're not driving either. Hand 'em over." Shit. He slid his keys across the bar and reached in his pocket for his phone. He wondered if Cameron would still think he was beautiful. He wondered if he cared. Yeah, he did. If he was going to hate himself, he was going to have a damned good reason by the time the day was done, and if he was going to push her away, he had best get started.

He pressed "send" and she picked up on the second ring. "Cameron." He just said her name.

"Greg?" Even surprised, she was going to call him by his first name now. It almost made him cry, since this was about to be the last time he ever heard it.

"Yeah, you need to come pick me up. I'm at this bar on Alford."

"OK. Wait. Alford? What the hell are you doing in that part of town? Nevermind. I'll be there in 20. Don't go anywhere."

"Kind of hard with no keys and only one leg, isn't it?"

"Heh. I guess. I'm leaving now." She didn't sound worried or disappointed. But she would. Oh she would. He was sure of it.

She was there in exactly 20 minutes. After her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she saw House and walked over to him. "Let's go". He stood up and wavered. "Oh Christ," she muttered as she put an arm out for him to steady himself against.

"I'm fine". It's not like he'd never been stinking drunk before.

"Yeah, you're super. Get in the car. Where do you want to go?"

"What are my options?"

"Your place or mine." She was volunteering to babysit him? He must have had more to drink than he thought. It shouldn't surprise him too much though, she was the one who wanted to heal the world.

"Yours." He was going to do this up proud if he was going to do it at all.

She helped him up the stairs which, in his defense, he probably couldn't have even climbed sober, and led him over to the couch. She unbuttoned his shirt and helped him slip it off, and by the time she came back with a pillow and blanket, he was already asleep. She covered him with the blanket and lifted his head gently to put the pillow under it, making sure he was lying on his side just in case. She sat down on the end of the couch and watched him sleep. When his breathing slowed and evened, she figured he was going to be OK. He'd probably wake up with a blinding headache, but he was going to be fine. His face looked so peaceful as he slept. She'd never noticed before how his features softened and he seemed to be somewhere that it didn't hurt. She reached down and brushed the hair away from his forehead, let her fingers trace the outline of his temple, down to his jaw, and she drew the blanket up around his shoulder. "God, you're beautiful."

He was thankful she turned the light off and went to bed herself right then, because she didn't see the tear roll down his cheek. It wasn't the result he'd anticipated for the end of the evening, but it was the one he wanted.


	5. Jealousy

**5**

House awakened to the smell of coffee and a couple of Tylenol being pressed into his hand. He opened his eyes and then closed them as daggers of light infiltrated his head. The clock on the wall read 7:17 and he couldn't remember the last time he'd been up this early without staying up the whole night before. He looked at the tablets in his palm and then over at his coat on the coat tree, fantasizing about the stronger medicine in the pocket and then remembered what had happened to the Vicodin he'd had on him the day before. "I must have really been drunk to hand over half a bottle of perfectly good narcotics," he thought to himself.

Cameron sat down on the sofa next to him and handed him a cup of coffee. He swallowed the Tylenol, noticing how she'd gotten his coffee exactly right. Black, just the right amount of sugar. He sat back, laid his head on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes, stretching his arms out to either side of him.

"How do you feel?" It was the first word either of them had spoken since last night.

"Like I was out drinking all night. How else would I feel?"

"It wasn't all night, I picked up you at a little after 10. That's early, even for you. Wanna tell me what was wrong?"

"No. If I wanted to, I'd have done it already."

"I guess that was a stupid question. You slept OK though."

He let her admission that she'd checked up on him through the night pass without acknowledging it. He didn't want to spend another day hating himself, at least not any more than he normally did.

"We're going to have to stop back at my place before we do anything else."

"Yeah. Figured." She didn't ask why, even though she sensed that he wanted her to.

She got up and put her empty coffee cup in the dishwasher. She looked back at House as she did so. He was trying to straighten his hair and his t-shirt. He'd suddenly become extremely self conscious about his appearance, which was obviously out of character for him. To Cameron, though, he looked fantastic. There was a softness in his tired eyes that she'd never seen before, and his tousled hair made him seem a little innocent, off balance somehow. She sat back down next to him on the couch, and he let his hand graze her shoulder, as though it were an accident. She turned slightly and leaned back against him. For an awkward moment, neither moved and she wondered if she'd invaded his space, if his touch had actually been an accident, if she'd wanted to be too affectionate and too close, until his arms wrapped around her waist. She poured herself over him like the light through the curtains, and her body seemed to fit perfectly against his. He was starting to feel like home to her.

He closed his eyes as she settled against him and relaxed mentally and physically. She wasn't going to pry, she wasn't going to let him regret or ask him to be sorry. He never needed to explain to her. He rested his head in the crook of her neck and sighed. Suddenly he didn't care that he looked like hell, because she obviously didn't care. He tightened his arms around her and nuzzled against the tender skin of her neck, knowing his raspy whiskers would turn her fragile flesh livid pink and not really caring. She seemed to melt against him even more and he couldn't be sure where her body ended and his began. He planted soft, feather light kisses from her hairline to the collar of her night shirt and felt her sigh; he remembered she'd just about gone crazy when he'd kissed her this way a few nights ago. As much as she'd tried to hide it, her body couldn't lie. He took his time now with no goal in mind, letting his lips cover every inch of the soft curve of her neck, stopping here and there to nip sharply or let his teeth linger on a soft curve or sharp tendon. He felt her start to squirm and finally she turned around, getting on her knees and straddling his good leg and kissed him slowly, deeply, hungrily.

"You sure you're up for this?" Sometimes she treated him like he was made out of glass. He made a mental note that one of these days he was going to prove to her that was made of stronger stuff than she thought. But not today. Today he enjoyed being nurtured and treated as fragile.

"I started it, didn't I?"

She stared deep into his eyes as she helped him with his tshirt, and this time he let her hands explore his chest, his neck, cradle his head in her hands without feeling self conscious. Her touch was almost analytical, her breathing shallow, even and slow. She seemed afraid to do the wrong thing, so she touched him in a way that almost made him wonder if she wanted him to notice he was being touched at all. He pulled her closer to him and kissed her again, a long, probing kiss, and he didn't let her go until he slipped her night shirt over her head. She wrapped her arms around him and let her nails glide over his back, making him shiver. She smirked a little bit as his reaction, but stopped laughing when he led her hand to the bulge in his pants. "Does this feel "up for this" enough for you?"

She dashed into her bedroom to grab a condom, and then her hands carefully but quickly undid his button and fly and worked his jeans down to his hips, which he lifted and let her slide the rest of the way off. He looked up at her, thinking she'd want to control the pace again, but she surprised him by putting her hands on his shoulders and leaning back. He cradled her head in his hand as he guided her back on the couch, now he was the one being overly gentle and overly cautious. He realized what this was: he was his old self this morning. It wasn't the morning after some magical and exhausting night. He was hung over after she'd picked him up the night before, lousy drunk, she'd probably kept a vigil over him half the night making sure he didn't aspirate and die, he looked more unkempt than usual and she _still_ wanted him. Part of him was afraid she'd come to her senses and realize what she was doing so he moved slowly, gingerly, careful not to shock her out of whatever mindset she was in that was letting him do this.

Had he held still, he'd have felt himself shake like he was freezing even though it was warm in Cameron's apartment. She put her hands softly on his upper arms, and he stared into her eyes as he pushed inside her, watching her eyelids flutter closed as he hit bottom inside of her. He took her gently, slowly, moving subtly inside her. It was torturously intense and took ages, and he didn't know if it spared them from conversation or if it was the conversation itself but he couldn't stand to not be this close to her and she didn't rush him, just kept one arm wrapped around his back halfway down his rib cage and the other alternated between pulling him closer for a hungry kiss, playing with his hair, or caressing his shoulders. At some point she bit her lip and whispered his name, and his body betrayed him and then it was over. She wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and went and got dressed. It was then he realized he was shaking.

"Come on, let's go get you some clean clothes." He got dressed, grabbed his coat, checked his pocket for good measure just to make sure it was really devoid of pills and followed Cameron out to her car. Neither of them talked on the way over, neither of them felt the need to. She went in with him and waited until she heard the shower turn on, then stripped off her clothes and joined him. She allowed him one kiss before she pushed him up against the shower wall and swallowed his length all at once, feeling him stiffen in her mouth. She dug her fingers sharply into his hips and her urgency and enthusiasm excited him just as much as the warm heat of her mouth. It didn't take her long to find the pressure and rhythm he liked best and once she did, he was hopeless. Cameron opened her eyes for a moment and marveled at the sight of him, eyes closed, head thrown back, muscles straining as she took him all the way down her throat, loved the feeling of his hands in her hair, not forcing her but not letting her stop either. She quickened her pace a little and he pulled her back long enough to ask "are you…gonna??" And she nodded yes, she wanted it, wanted to feel, see, taste his pleasure, let it become part of her and with a heady rush she felt him come and thought it must have been almost as good for her. She stood up and held him until he opened his eyes again, letting him lean against her and as she got out to towel off he grabbed her hand and smiled.

"I owe you." He sounded satisfied and mischievous at the same time.

"Yeah. You do." She smiled back, dried off and got dressed, letting him finish his shower.

He got dressed and then rummaged around in the closet for a "spare" bottle of pills, swallowed a couple, trying to deny to his mind and his liver that he'd just taken a gram of painkillers in less than two hours, threw his coat on and looked at Cameron. "So?"

"So, I was thinking we go get your car and then go to work."

"Can't we get my car after work?"

"Why not now? We have plenty of time, and then we won't have to worry about it sitting in the seediest part of town all day."

"If we go now, I have no excuse to see you after work."

"You need an excuse? Why can't you just say you want to see me tonight?"

She understood what he was trying to say and she wasn't going to try to make him explain it, at least not now, but she wasn't going to have it this way forever, she knew that much already. She could deal with him. He thought she couldn't, but she knew better. She knew who and what he was. She knew what the day before had been, that it had been a test. He'd tried to repulse her, tried to push her away so he could say "See? I told you no one could love me" and prove himself "right" before he could get hurt again. And she'd either failed or passed, she didn't know which, but it was the result he'd wanted because he was better today, at least until the next storm front came through. She knew, though, that she couldn't deal with him trying to deny his feelings, or lack of feelings, or whatever he felt or didn't feel regarding her, forever, because this was not going to turn into a game. If she was going to be with him, she was going to be with him on an even playing field, knowing what the terms were, or she wasn't going to be with him at all.

She knew how he felt, he'd almost said it with his mouth just now and he'd sure as hell said it with his body this morning, but if it scared him every time and they had to play cat and mouse for a week after every time he got "too close" and too afraid of being hurt, that, she couldn't handle. But for now…

"OK, work it is. But we can't walk in together."

"Why not? You walked in with Chase all the time."

"Would you shut up about Chase?"

"Well, I'm just saying –"

"I know what you're saying. Chase wasn't my boss, OK?"

"Well, now, all of a sudden you care about-"

"Greg. Drop it."

He wondered if she'd ever called Chase "Robert" and wondered if he should feel special or not. Or maybe it was Bob, or Bobby, or Rob, or some other little pet name. Maybe he'd ask sometime at the right moment, or the wrong moment, or whatever seemed to fit the situation best. She'd spent the night with him, but she'd never… He cut off that train of thought, not wanting to spoil the moment. Besides, it's not like he was with her anyway. He had no right to be upset.

"So what happened to your pills anyway? It's not like you to go anywhere without making sure you have enough for at least three people." It was like she'd read his mind.

"There was this woman at the bar last night…"

"Sex for drugs. Wonderful. Maybe it's best you insist on protection."

"No, not sex for drugs. Just drugs. In fact, she was a little disappointed that Vicodin was all I had. What are you, jealous?"

"Of course not. Why would I be?"

They pulled into the parking garage, and he started toward one door while she started toward the other.

"Oh, no reason. Except for that I wasn't asleep last night before you went to bed. I heard what you said."

Her heart leapt to her throat. "I know that." She hadn't known.

"Of course. That's why you waited until you thought I was asleep to say it then, right?" And he disappeared into the elevator.


	6. All or Nothing

**6**

Cameron watched House as he stood lost in thought in front of his white board, half thinking that the entire team, maybe the entire hospital, must know what was going on between them by the way she knew she was looking at him. Nothing seemed to slake her desire for him, and she found it more than a little frustrating and much more distracting than it should be. It was as though now that she finally had an outlet for all those years of feelings she'd been forced to hold back, the dam had busted and everything as she had known it previously was about to be washed away. The way she thought about him and moreover, the way she responded to him surprised, embarrassed and scared her. She couldn't help herself around him, and as soon as he touched her she was acting like a 16 year old nympho.

On one hand, she could understand it; the man was, hands down, an excellent lover. He seemed to be blessed with skill and intuition that let him know just what to do and how and when to do it. The other part, the part that she didn't have control over, was that it was _him_. She had not yet gotten her mind around the fact that Gregory House was hers, she could touch him now without having to make it look like an accident, his hands and mouth on her, his body inside of hers, was no longer a fantasy. She wasn't sure if she would ever get her mind to accept any of that as truth. So many times she had started at him and thought he was so beautiful, so sexy, so unbearably desirable she felt like she'd go blind if she dared look another second, so many times had she told herself that she'd do anything, literally almost _anything _to have him, if just once, and now she'd had him twice in the same morning. It was too big of a change for her brain to get used to so fast.

Of course there was more to it as well. As much as she tried to convince herself she was confusing lust for love, or that she just wanted to fix and take care of him, she also knew she was fooling herself. His physical beauty did cloud her judgement, she knew and acknowledged that. And yes, she did wish she could take care of him, heal him, quiet his mind and take his pain away. But she also knew that she couldn't, at least not in any way that it would matter in the long run. So, she realized, she accepted him as he was. The drinking, the dark cynicism, the hopelessness, the drug addiction, the pain, frustration, bitterness, rage, she loved it. All of it; it was a part of him, and she loved him. Because along with that, there was a side of him that craved love, wanted someone to want to try to heal him because maybe he could find it in his heart to let some parts of him _be_ healed. There was compassion in him when he felt it was right to feel compassion. So he wasn't fluffy and endlessly caring and optimistic. He simply knew how life worked, and that sometimes people got what they deserved, and sometimes people got what they didn't deserve and there wasn't a rhyme or reason to any of it. Just because he didn't walk the earth wearing rose colored glasses didn't mean he didn't care. And more than anything, he was afraid of being vulnerable, afraid of letting anyone in because if he got hurt one more time, if he got betrayed and used one more time, it would probably be the death of him, so he tried to push others away before they could leave. Then at least he was the one in control, and control beat the hell out of getting hurt.

Cameron knew all of this to be true as well as she knew herself, because she did all the same things. She loved House because she understood him. And this morning, when he'd seen that she wasn't going to run screaming when faced with some of the worst of him, when he'd forced her to face the reality of his drinking, pain, and pill popping and she'd still stuck around, he'd let her get just a tiny bit closer. Of course he couldn't say it, but he'd shown it. He's known that she was staring right at the scar on his leg in the morning sunlight and he said nothing, didn't try to move, didn't avert her eyes. He was going to let her accept it. And when they had sex now, they had something to communicate. Neither of them were great with words or sentiments, but their bodies seemed to take over where their words failed. She felt herself letting her guard down, and she knew he was too. When she'd been with Chase, she'd basically owned him. Even the first time she'd been with House, it was just a moment in time, one of those things that happened. But now, she felt herself wanting to please for the sake of giving pleasure and for no other reason, to show her feelings through her hands, her body, and her mouth. She knew House, and she knew that he had all the self control in the world no matter the situation, so when he gave his body to her, he wasn't losing control and it wasn't about control at all, he wasn't using her, he was simply accepting what she offered him, and that made her happy. She felt a need to surrender, too. When she touched him, held him, she could feel the energy and strength coiled up inside of him, and something in her mind cried out to be taken, possessed, to give something to him that she could never take back.

His attempts to push her away were getting less forceful too. He pointed out that he'd heard what she'd said to him because he wanted to know he appreciated it. He'd caught Cameron in a genuine moment, with her walls and defenses down, and wanted her to know that he knew and that it mattered to him. "Thank you" just wasn't in House's vocabulary. Appreciation meant that another person had some power over his emotions, that he wasn't 100% whole and fulfilled just by himself, that someone else had the ability to make the experience of his life better and also potentially worse, and that wasn't something he was prepared to handle. Cameron knew he fully acknowledged what he did and knew why he did it, but that didn't mean he could change overnight, or ever. It was fine by her though – the posturing he did really didn't matter, because she knew it was posturing. She did it too, just in a different way. She thought that if she cared about everyone, sooner or later someone would care back. It was two different extreme solutions to the same problem. She knew, though, that she only had one shot at this; that if anyone could love her, really love her for everything she was and wasn't and didn't expect her to change it was House, because he understood her too.

House stood in the hall, watching Chase and Cameron in the patient's room and felt a ball of territorialism and machismo forming in his stomach. What did pretty little Robert Chase have that he didn't? House didn't mean physically, emotionally, or anything else when the thought came to his mind, because the obvious answer would be youth, optimism, and two good legs. What went through House's mind was "How could he have never realized what he had?" A man, a real man, would have made damn sure Cameron knew that she was wanted, valued, loved, would have done anything in his power to see to it that she never had any other reason to want another man so long as she lived, a real man would make a woman like Allison Cameron feel like a woman. House would have been called a sexist (as usual) for saying it out loud, but he knew that no matter how strong and independent a woman was, no matter how focused she was on her own life and no matter if she had any intentions of giving that up or not, deep down, every woman wanted to be Somebody's Girl. She wanted to know there was a man out there who, if he had to, would fight for her, that there was someone she could run to if the time ever came that she didn't feel all that strong, who wouldn't think less of her for being vulnerable but would be there to remind her that there was at least one stable thing in her life, and that no matter what else happened, she was still part of a whole. What was getting under House's skin was that he had no idea how Chase could have _ever_ been that to her. House called him his lapdog for a reason. He was one, and no matter how much Cameron feared getting too close and feared getting hurt, however much she wanted to be in control of a situation, there would come a point where "yes dear" and "whatever you want dear" would get old. Still, somehow, Chase had managed to spend the night with her, wake up with her in his arms, make her giggle like a school girl (although House conceded to himself that he could live without that part just fine), and he had never. And now, there they were, bantering and passing the time and while House knew that Cameron was going home with him tonight, there was still a part of him that didn't like that sorry excuse for a man thinking he could just buddy up to His Girl.

Cameron left the room to pass in a lab order and House appeared from nowhere at the desk.

"So what's Chase up to?" He fiddled nonchalantly with the lollipop he'd just picked out of the candy dish on the desk.

"Are you _still_ on about that? You don't wear jealous melancholy well. Chase and I are _over_. That should be patently obvious, especially to you."

"It is. There's no doubt in my mind."

"Then what is this about, then? Because you sure as hell seem to be acting like I'm going to run back into Chase's arms any second, and in case you didn't learn that lesson in middle school, the surest way to push a woman into the arms of another man is to act like an overprotective parent. I have a father. He did an excellent job. I'm not in the market for another one."

"Ok, so if that's not why the age difference between us turns you on, then…"

"Don't even finish that thought, Greg. Ever stop to think that maybe it's _you_ that turns me on?"

"What does he have that I don't?"

"Who, my father?" She was half-serious, and half trying to lighten the mood.

"No. Chase. Unless your father could make you feel better than I can. In which case we're having entirely the wrong conversation."

"Nothing. He didn't have anything that you don't, which is why I'm not with him. If you want the truth, it was you I wanted all along."

"So then why did he have so much more than I do?"

"What on earth are you talking about? What do you want?"

"Everything you gave him."

"You have it."

"I don't. "

"You're confusing me. Do you think I do what I do with you with just anybody? I liked Chase. He was funny, nice, and available. But I knew he wasn't The One either. You of all people should realize that we weren't given genitals so that they could rot and fall off from disuse unless the Love of Our Lives shows up."

"Then let me spell it out for you, Allison. I fully realize it's not that hard to get laid, even less so if you're of the fairer sex. Men are stupid. If I were talking strictly about sex, we wouldn't be having this conversation, rather, I'd have you bent over my desk at this very moment. I want to know what he had that I don't, how he got all of you and I don't. If you claimed you wanted me for so long, wouldn't you then be chomping at the bit to have and do everything you'd been deprived of all that time? It doesn't make sense. So you're lying. Either to me or to yourself, but you are lying. Because there are reasons why people do things, and the reason you say you have doesn't match what you're doing."

"Then _what do you want_?"

"Everything. All or nothing. You can't say one thing and then do another. That's not fair, and I can't take it. Not when it comes to you." [_Oh. Dear. God. __What __did you just say?_]

"You just answered your own question. You never stopped to think that maybe you were right, like you usually are? That you and I aren't so different at all? That maybe Chase was the one I _didn't _care about and that's why? But if you're going to talk about all or nothing, it goes both ways Greg."

That was so fair as to border on being unfair.

"So, are you still going to take me to go get my car after work?"

"Of course."

"And will you still come in after?"

"Absolutely."

"What then?"

"All or nothing, I guess."


	7. Does it Hurt?

**7**

Over the remainder of the day, Dr. Allison Cameron became acquainted with extremes of nervousness and excitement that she hadn't before even dreamed were possible. She knew that tonight House would expect nothing less than everything. She trusted him completely, and found herself wanting to give in to him and give herself to him more than she'd ever wanted anything before, which scared her a little and excited her even more. Still, she also knew that she hadn't even begun to feel the heat of the blue inferno that lit his eyes when he'd looked at her this afternoon, and remembered what she'd thought of a few days ago about fire and remembered something long buried in a high school chemistry class: blue flame burns hottest. She knew that after tonight, the part of her that had to control everything and keep everyone at a distance would be melted away if House got his way. She, of course, had every intention of making sure he did.

On the other side of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, Dr. Gregory House was feeling much the same way as his female counterpart, but for different reasons. He didn't like to lose, and he liked to lose even less when what was at stake was something he cared so much about keeping. If Allison denied him tonight, if she wasn't willing or able to show him in ways he could understand and believe that she wanted and loved him as much as she said she did, the emptiness inside of him would be complete. He also knew what she expected of him: everything. She said it went both ways and she was right; he could ask nothing of her that he wasn't prepared to give, and he wasn't sure how far he would be able to go to keep her. Being willing wasn't the issue, he was more than willing, he just didn't know if he could tell her in ways that _she_ could trust and understand what he felt and wanted. He knew that tonight, if what he thought would happen happened, she'd offer up her body and her heart to him, she'd freefall without a net, and he didn't know for sure if he had what it took to be there to catch her. For the first time in House's life, he doubted himself and was genuinely scared.

The undercurrent of anticipation, arousal, and uncertainty on the ride across town to get his car was electric and palpable. They made small talk, neither speaking of what was to happen as neither was entirely sure, and there was no point in discussing it anyway because they weren't at his apartment yet, and that was the setting in which the evening 's events – whatever they may be – were to take place. Besides, Cameron didn't really want to know what lay ahead, or what was in House's mind. Conversation would get them nowhere anyway; whatever happened over the course of night was the deciding factor. They'd gone as far as they could with words.

At cruising speed on the highway, Cameron rested her wrist on the gearshift and stopped talking. House reached out and gently trailed his fingers down her arm, slowly, from her shoulder to her wrist, barely touching her skin and making her break out in gooseflesh. A tingle ran up her spine in the same way it did when someone gently scratched her back or played with her hair. She looked over at him and saw his face was a complex mixture of all of the feelings the night would unveil. There was confusion, lust, possessiveness, and something softer too that made Cameron's heart hurt. House's eyes truly were the window to his soul, and so many times she'd seen in them what he wished he could say, all the things he held just below the surface that he felt would make him lose his strength if they ever bubbled to the top.

His hand glanced over the back of her hand and came to rest on her thigh, where it squeezed gently and gave a hint and a promise of what was to come. His grip was warm and strong, reminding Cameron of the strength and control that House possessed, control not only over himself, but over her too, and the reminder was reassuring. She knew that no matter what happened tonight or after, she could rely on him to take care of her and keep her safe.

"You're not stopping me." His hand crept up her thigh a fraction of an inch as she guided the car off of the highway.

"I didn't think preventing you from touching me was part of the plan." Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. It was only a few more blocks to the bar where House had left his car, and then 15 minutes back to his apartment.

"I didn't know there was a plan."

"Yeah…right," she scoffed. "You probably have everything already mapped out in your head, complete with flow charts."

"I don't. Scout's Honor."

"See? You were never a Boy Scout. You have a plan. You always do."

"Not always."

"When haven't you?"

"I can't remember, but I'm sure there was at least one time."

"Maybe back in grade school, before you'd fully honed your skills."

"OK, so what if I have a plan? You and I both know that not too many things in life actually go as planned." They reached House's car, and found an advantage to driving a 10 year old beater: it hadn't been stolen or vandalized despite being parked in the annals of New Jersey all night and half the day.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Cameron wasn't annoyed, she was genuinely curious.

"Exactly what it means." House put both feet on the ground, grabbed has cane from the floor and stood up. "I'll meet you at my place in about 15 and we'll see what happens." He sounded confident and detached as usual, but deep down they both knew that wasn't how he felt. Cameron watched him get in his car and head down the back street, then started toward House's apartment herself. A million thoughts raced through her head. What if this was it? What if this was their last night together. What if House couldn't find it in himself to be with her? What if it wasn't the end? What then? What if, what if, what if. There was only one way to find out "what if" and that was to keep her car on its current course. She'd never wanted to get to a destination more, but she'd also never been more nervous about it.

Fifteen minutes wasn't enough time to talk herself out of such an important decision and so, before Cameron even realized it, she was at House's stoop. He let her in before she had a chance to knock. She closed the door behind her, and suddenly there was no outside world. The walls of his apartment felt both claustrophobic and comforting; there was no "out", but she couldn't imagine why she'd want to leave. Despite the imperative both of those circumstances caused, Cameron still found herself motionless and speechless. She wondered what action could possibly be the "right" thing to do or say during a moment of such gravity. Not finding an answer, she did and said nothing. She suddenly felt very exposed and self conscious, like a high school girl waiting in the living room for her prom date who's five minutes late.

House leaned back against the couch, bad leg crossed over good, the picture of poise, confidence, and self control. Too bad he'd already decided that he had to be the strong one tonight, because his insides were falling apart. He didn't know what to do either, but his pants were fighting a war with his head and his heart was caught in the crossfire. It had been that way since the first time. It wasn't that he didn't love Cameron. He always had. It was that he knew himself too well, and knew that one way or the other he'd push her away before she could hurt him, and he didn't know how he'd live with himself if he hurt her in the process. He wanted, more than anything, to be what she wanted, would have given his other leg for the ability to love her the way she deserved to be loved and the way he wanted to love her, but he doubted his ability to get his actions to match his feelings. He wanted her to leave, he also just plain wanted her, but he also knew there was no way he could let her go. He was in too deep and he felt too much. It had been the only time in his life where he held himself back from what his gut told him was right, and he hoped it was worth it in the end.

"So?" Someone had to break the silence, House guessed, or they'd never get anywhere. Trivialities were better than nothing.

"So?" Cameron asked back playfully. "What happened to your plan?"

"Told you, didn't have one." He motioned her over to him with a subtle beckoning gesture. "Come here."

Spellbound, Cameron closed the few short steps between them and slipped into the arms that welcomed her, settled on the crest of her hips and clasped behind her, leaving her legs outside of the both of his. He kissed her, tenderly but possessively, until she wondered if she'd ever actually had a skeleton in the first place, since no bone in her body seemed to want to do anything except collapse against House. At this point, the back of the couch was holding both of them up. She took in a few shallow breaths, trying to force enough air into her lungs to sustain her through another kiss like the last and leaned into him again. He stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looked at him, confused, but found comfort in his eyes. "Slow…we'll get there." She realized then it wasn't a rejection and he was right, they had things to talk about, one way or the other.

She mimicked his gesture then, locking her arms behind his neck in the same way his were around her waist and laid her head on his shoulder, just _feeling_. He was warm and solid against her, and her head seemed to fit perfectly into the crook of his neck in this position. She could smell his spicy, woodsy cologne, laundry soap, and the scent of his own skin. She'd always known when he'd been in a room before her, her senses were so attuned to him that they had had programmed themselves to keep a lookout. Breathing him into her this way was familiar and comforting, a constant in all of this uncertainty. He slid one hand up to her shoulder blades and pressed her closer before wrapping his fingers around her shoulder and pulling her away slightly. She fought it, wanting to stay this close to him forever. "Look at me." His voice was softer than she'd ever heard it before, it was like every tear he'd ever wanted to cry, but held instead came out through is mouth at that moment. He sounded so tender, but so sad at the same time.

She slowly met his eyes with hers and was struck all over again by their beautiful shade of cerulean blue. She'd never seen eyes so blue and was almost sure she never would again, and could never quite get herself to believe that color occurred in nature. He was just so damn _beautiful_.

"You're looking at me like that again." Apparently in House's mind, "like that" had already been previously established.

"Like what?" Cameron had an idea of exactly how she was looking at him, something like love and lust and empathy and protectiveness all rolled into one, but she wanted to hear what her eyes said to him.

"Like I can do no wrong. And that's not really fair to either of us, because I can, I have, I do, and I will. I'm not a fallen angel. I'm not any kind of angel."

Cameron remembered all the times they'd locked eyes, if even for a second, even in the sight of everyone else. They knew what they were saying without needing words to say it, knowing the words would actually ruin it. She wondered if it had been written all over her face the entire time, and she wondered if he'd always felt like this, like she thought he was something he only wished he could be.

"Why would you think that's how I feel? Do you forget what I've seen?" She gently pried his left arm off her hip and turned it over gently in her hand. She traced the 3 perfectly aligned cuts that were now just ghostly red and white scars with her finger. "I was here that night, remember? I patched you up, right on this couch. And you didn't even try to hand me some lie as to how it happened." She kissed the scars gently, reverently, and House flinched as if they were still new, bleeding wounds. He didn't want to remember that he'd actually gotten so low, been in so much pain, that he'd done… "And you let me in. If you didn't want me to know, you wouldn't have. You couldn't ask for help with words, you couldn't tell me about your pain, so you just opened the door instead hoping I'd take the hint. Did I come in, or did I run?"

"You came in." His voice was just above a whisper.

"So what makes you think I'm going to change my mind now?"

"It's different now."

"How?"

"You're in my life now. You'll see it almost every day."

"Greg…" He looked up at her, shame and confusion and love in her eyes. "I already see it almost every day. I spend more time with you, with Chase and Foreman too, than with anyone else in my life. That's what being a doctor is. And I'm still here, in your arms, in your bed…well…over you couch." She smiled slightly. "Nothing's different."

"OK, fine, but it'll _be_ different. When you're with me it's a whole other ball game. The part of me that wants you around will get annoyed that you even looked at "man" like Chase, ever, and will do everything in its power to make sure that I make sure you stay. Then, the part of me that's scared of getting hurt will make your life a misery and try to push you away. Remember that "go away a little closer" thing I told you about? Every time I tell myself I'm not going to do it. Every time, I do."

"So don't do it. You think I don't have any issues with relationships? I obviously do, since I'm here. With you." She smiled again. Her fault was she didn't do "serious discussion" that well either. House deflected his way out, she tried to joke her way out. At some point, maybe he'd realize that she really _did_ understand. "What you do is up to you. If you don't want me to go away, don't push me away. Simple. It doesn't have to be any different."

"Oh. OK. I wish I'd met you sooner, you were the answer to all my problems." He was snarky as usual, but his words lacked the affronted edge they normally would in such a context.

"All I know is this is supposed to feel good. If you don't feel good being with me…then the last thing I want is to cause you any more pain. All I can give you is my word that I would never do that intentionally, and I honestly can't think of anything you could do so awful that it would scare me away. You're hurt and angry and frustrated. But you're not cold, just rational. And you're not evil. I don't want to fix you either – that feeling of protectiveness you have toward me? Same feeling. I'll take you the way you are. This all I can give you. You already have everything else."

"_Almost_ everything. But the night is young." His words dripped with unfulfilled longing and hope. "Does it feel good? Being with me?"

"Foreman asked me once if it hurt when I was with you, asked me if it hurt in my stomach but kind of felt good too. I don't remember what I said, but it was agony…to stand so close to you and not be able to touch…." She ran her fingers through his hair, trailed them slowly down the side of his neck, her hand finally coming to rest on his chest. "To see the pain in your eyes and not be able to hold you…" She moved her other hand to the back of his neck. "To lay awake at night, wondering what it would be like to kiss you, and not know…" Her lips brushed his, barely touching. He was too awestruck to kiss her properly. He knew she'd wanted him. He'd had no idea she'd felt like this.

"Does it still hurt?"

"A little. Sometimes."

"Show me where."

She took his hand and put it over her heart. "There. But it's getting better. Those pains just take time to heal, that's all." His face was still a mask of composure, but inside, House was sobbing. And breaking. He'd set out tonight to be what he'd always thought a man should be, strong, aloof, above it all, but here she was, the woman he'd always wanted, telling him that for years she'd hurt, ached, longed for him and because he had to be above it all she'd kept silent. How could anyone, man, woman or beast, hold themselves strong in the face of _this_?

He kissed her like a man suffocating and her mouth, his only chance at breath. Cameron clung to him viciously, nothing else in the world existed for her at that moment. She was _his_, god damn it, finally, and she didn't care about being in control anymore, she didn't care about being hurt anymore, she finally had the man she'd wanted, loved, for 3 years and she would be damned if she was going to let her fears and her ego get in the way. She only hoped at some point, he came to the same conclusion but for now nothing else mattered except his mouth, his tongue, his body, his hands, his breath…there _was_ nothing else. He grabbed her hips, holding her so tightly that her spine was bent into a slightly unnatural position but she didn't mind, the discomfort proved to her that this was real, it both shocked and heightened her senses and made her try to press closer to him still.

House was suddenly overcome with the desire to prove…something. He didn't know what, or how, he could barely even remember where or who he was, he couldn't think past the emotions he was feeling or the sensations his body was feeling, he'd never been this close to anyone literally or figuratively and he couldn't be expected to feel all of what he was feeling _and _think at the same time. Somehow, his body, his brain, and his heart all managed to agree and they were all threatening to explode but he felt like if it happened, if he died right now, he could never ask for anything more.

Cameron was still leaning against him, probably unable to stand on her own with her point of balance so far skewed, and in one quick motion House managed to spin them around so that she was leaning against the back of the couch, then squatted down slightly, grabbed her by the back of the thighs and lifted her up onto the back of the couch. She gasped in surprise and the confirmation that yes, he really was that strong and yes, he really had been holding back and holding back a lot, but he could have done anything to her or with her and she wouldn't have cared. Once the shock wore off, she joined him in his mindset – it was all or nothing after all, nothing held back, nothing spared. She'd told him all she could, being only slightly better with words and sentiments than he was (which wasn't saying much) and all in all, she'd felt she'd done a pretty good job of expressing herself. Even still, there were times that words fell short and this was one of those times. She had to have him, all of him, had to feel real, physical proof of what he said and what he felt, needed to see and feel the connection between them in a way that no words could ever express.

House felt a little off balance, he wasn't used to feeling any of…this…for any woman he'd been with, and in the still-slightly-coherent part of his mind wondered if he was befouling the moment manhandling Cameron like this, but he literally couldn't stop himself. He'd swallowed so much desire and feelings for her in the last few years, denied it and drowned it any way he could, that it had to come out. She'd given him the green light, told him she needed him, needed this, and he was going to make absolutely sure that she knew he understood and reciprocated every word she said. He wanted to see, for once in his life, what it would be like if he just let his mind go.

His hands were everywhere on her at once, and before he knew it she was completely naked except for her bra and panties and he was down to his jeans. Someplace far off in his mind he found it slightly comical, because he really had no idea when all of the disrobing had happened or how it had happened, but the comedy only lasted a split second because the disrobing _had_ happened. He grabbed her hips, pulling her towards him, her still sitting and him standing and scraped his teeth down the side of her neck, biting at the curve of her shoulder. It would probably leave a mark, but he really didn't care, she was his and he was going to make sure everybody knew it. She groaned in pain and pleasure and dug her nails into the skin of his shoulders as his lips went lower, finding the curve of her breast and biting there, knowing that one was _really_ going to bruise and smiling to himself knowing she'd remember him in the shower and in front of the mirror for at least a week. He kissed her again, a fiery, lovelustpossession, passion charged kiss and looked her deep in the eyes afterward.

What Cameron saw would stay burned into her mind forever, no matter what happened between them. She had, for the first time in her life, witnessed cool, calm, not-giving-a -shit Gregory House lose every little shred of his control and he looked spectacular. In fact, she had to close her eyes for a moment and let out a shuddering breath or she felt for sure she'd die of beauty and amazement right where she sat.

"So. Allison." He ran his tongue up her neck from collar bone to earlobe.

"Yes…" He wanted to _talk_?

"Does it hurt anywhere else?"

"Yes."

"Show me where."

She took his hand again, just about as tenderly as she had the first time, and put it over the wet crotch of her panties. He wriggled his fingers inside and whispered some barely understandable obscenity when he felt how dripping wet she was.

"This for me?"

"All for you. Because of you."

He was overcome. No woman had _ever_ wanted him like this, had ever responded to him like this. Her body couldn't lie, and she couldn't seem to get enough of him, his slightest touch drove her crazy and he himself couldn't totally understand it. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties from the inside and pulled down, and she leaned back, allowing him to slip them off. He knelt down slowly and opened her with his fingers.

"What're you doing?"

"What do you think? You told me it hurt. I was going to kiss it and make it better." He punctuated his thought by running his tongue flat between her lips, slowly, making her feel dirty and sexy and exposed all at once. Part of her wanted to stop him but the other part of her didn't want to deny him anything, and that part won. Besides, it felt way too good to stop him. He pointed his tongue and explored a little more, testing and teasing and figuring out what she liked the best. Cameron felt like she'd been thrown into freezing cold water. She could only gasp and even then, only inhale, and feared for a moment that she might pass out if she couldn't take a decent breath and soon. If she'd thought he had talented hands, his mouth was unbelievable. His tongue was firm and soft at the same time, wet and warm, his rough beard chafed her thighs red but the pain only amplified the pleasure. She laced her fingers in his hair, trying to get some control over the onslaught of sensation that took over her body but then again not sure she wanted to try to control it but she couldn't even breathe.

"Greg…I can't…" she managed to gasp out, and he slowed down a little, finally finding a rhythm. "I can't take it. I…oh god. I can't stand it. Please."

"Yeah you can. Relax." He just wanted to please her, it turned him on more than anything to make her feel this good. He locked his elbows against her hips and held her lower back in his hands so she wouldn't have to waste any energy trying to hold herself up and picked up where he'd left off. He knew if he could just get her past the point of feeling overstimulated she'd come like never before. He started slowly, feeling her climb higher and higher, her muscles shaking and tensing and then went a little faster, faster still, firmer. He'd been with her enough times now to know when she was close, and he knew she was right on the edge. He slowly slid two fingers inside her, careful not to go too fast and startle her out of the place she was in and then closed his lips around her and sucked. Her moans sounded almost pained as she came in his hand and his mouth and he stood up as quickly as he could to hold onto her and let her come down slow and ride out the aftershocks.

"Good _god_ where did you learn _that_."

"Boy Scouts", he said primly. "Bedroom?"

"Yeah…"

They made their way down the hall, and House skinned off his pants in the bedroom and lay down. Cameron stayed standing and alternated between staring into his eyes to staring at his physical reaction to her.

"You're looking at me like that again." This time, they both knew what "like that" was.

"I like what I see. And by the way: This?" She ran the back of her hand down House's right thigh, right over the scar that he felt defined him. "It doesn't bother me. I don't want to hear about it again. I told you I wanted you the way you are. That means everything. All or nothing, remember?"

"All or nothing. Yeah. I remember. OK."

"You're just staying that because you're horny."

"Fine, then ask me again in an hour or so."

Cameron blinked. "Hour?"

"Yeah. I'm 49. You forget…this is time the third time today. Frankly I'm surprised I can do it again. You inspire me. But be warned. I'm gonna last for-_ever_." With the last syllable he pulled her on top of him and arched his hips so he slipped in to the hilt all at once. Cameron closed her eyes and sighed, he felt bigger somehow, he'd always felt good, but this was heavenly, and then she realized…

"You're not wearing a…"

"You forget again. I had your test results. I've always been safe, and I don't plan on being with anybody but you for a damn long time, I figured it was OK."

"Oh yeah…it's great." She had no idea how much more friction there'd be without a condom. He felt so much thicker, harder. She rode him painfully slow, kissing him, touching him, letting his hands roam all over her body, loving the sensations of being touched and caressed, loving _him_, and before too long her body recharged it's energy and took over for her, riding him harder and faster. It was starting to get to him too, his eyes closed and his breathing quickened, his hands fell to her hips and held there, guiding her but preventing her from doing too much too soon. He wanted to feel every second of this but she wanted more, too much, and in a quick motion that surprised him as well as her he rolled with her, never coming out and thrust into her slowly, never wanting it to be over but knowing that soon, it would be. He just wanted to drag it out as long as he could.

She wrapped her arms around him, moaning, pleading, begging, harder Greg _please_, harder, trying to arch her hips, grind against him, something, anything just _more_. He pushed into her all the way and stopped. "Oh _god_ don't stop, please don't stop, _please_." Although House was convinced that the sound of her pleading like that, wanting him like that wouldn't ever stop turning him on, he bent down and whispered in her ear "Don't I always give you what you need?" Cameron just moaned and tried to move, somehow, trying to satisfy her more immediate needs. "Answer me…don't I?" His voice was gentle but insistent. "Yes." And she didn't just mean like this, in bed.

"Then trust me. Be patient. Don't rush it." He drew back and thrust slowly in again. "Doesn't this feel good?"

"God yes." The words came out as one word, one breath.

"Then why do you want it to be over so soon?"

"I don't…I just need to…"

"That's only a few seconds…but this…ooooh…this…." He was moving almost too slowly, even for him, but he just couldn't stand the thought of this being over.

"I know. You're right. It's just…the way you make me feel… I just…I need it. So bad. Please. _Greg_." The sound of her moaning his name always broke him, probably always would. He hoped she never figured that out. A few sharp, deep strokes was all it took for both of them, and he was staring into her eyes when it happened. It got no. better. Than. This.

Neither moved for a few long minutes…could have been five, could have been an hour. Finally Cameron stirred and House slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. "Stay." It was all he had to say. Even if he couldn't say anything else, tonight or ever, that one word was enough. She said nothing, just settled back against him.

"What about tomorrow?" She was overthinking and she knew it, but no matter how much she wanted to believe otherwise, House was right, things were different now.

"I was thinking coffee, breakfast, shower, maybe sex in the shower depending on if I can rise to the occasion for the 4th time in 24 hours or not, clothes and work. Isn't that what most people do in the morning?"

"Guess so. Are you driving then?"

"As in, taking both of us?"

"Yeah."

"I could. But what will everyone think?" He knew he was an ass, but he had to say it, even though he was smiling, no, nearly grinning, as he did.

"Goodnight Greg."

" 'Night. Hey…Allison?"

"What?"

"Does it still hurt?"

"No."

_Fin_

A/N – I know I set myself up for a real flash-bang "all or nothing" ending. I hope I was able to deliver. This chapter was the hardest to write but oddly enough, the most rewarding. There's a few personal bits of me in this part, I hope the sentiment came through and I also hope you enjoyed. More stories to come when my muse visits me once again.


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